


There's Birds Everywhere and My Stomach Hurts, this is hell

by GodsHumbleClown



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: AU, Angst, Autistic Davey Jacobs, Autistic David Jacobs, Birds, Bryan Dad-ton, Cats, Crohns Disease, Denton is a dad, Denton? More like Dad-ton., F/F, Hospitals, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Marching Band, someone give spot a hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 54
Words: 69,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23110723
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GodsHumbleClown/pseuds/GodsHumbleClown
Summary: Warning, this summary is on crack apparently.I thrive on comments, so if you comment my day will be made.Spot didn't plan to join a marching band, but he also didn't plan to live with a group of bird obsessed cat hoarders who keep trying to absorb him into their weird family.Spot Conlon is a foster kid living with a new family, Bryan Denton and his 3 kids.Modern Newsies AU.Based a lot more on the 1992 version of Newsies because that's the one I've seen, but could also probably be the musical too.Denton is Dad.Will include some Javid but not the most important part of the story.Update : Includes sprace. Oodles of sprace!Teen and up for language and some violence possiblyTW : Foster care, referenced abuse and PTSD, Hospitals/Hospital visits (Nobody ever puts those in the TW but they should)Please let me know if you see something that I should add to the TW! Want people to be safe!This is my first time actually posting a fanfic, so thanks to anyone who reads it!
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 133
Kudos: 181
Collections: Take These Broken Wings





	1. Chapter 1 (Spot)

**Author's Note:**

> I have this AU where Spot has what is called Crohns Disease, but he doesnt know it due to lack of medical attention. It's an autoimmune disorder that mainly affects your digestive system, and both myself and my younger sister have it. 
> 
> All the descriptions are based on my personal experience with Crohns, so plz dont hate me if you've had different experiences <3

Spot stared out the window of the car. His stomach was cramping and he really could use a cigarette, but with Johnathan driving, that really wasn't an option. His social worker insisted that Spot had to give up smoking, though it wasn't like he could enforce it unless he was there. 

He was determined not to throw up on this trip, but maybe if he puked all over the car, Johnathan would stop being so stuck up about his no-smoking rule.  
The GPS showed that they were close to their destination, in a pretty decent neighborhood. As they pulled into the driveway, Spot critically took in the outside of the house. 

Two stories high, it wasn't small, but it also wasn't huge. The grass on the lawn was a bit shaggy, but not unkempt, and the front porch was surrounded by a jungle of flowers. They had bird feeders everywhere, more bird feeders than any reasonable person should have, honestly, and a child's bicycle lay haphazardly across the sidewalk. 

It looked like a normal house, not counting the fact that it was apparently occupied by the Audubon society.  
Spot shook himself out of his thoughts when he realized Johnathan was talking to him.  
“...and one of the kids is nine. Nine, Sean, so watch your language around him, okay?”

Spot snorted in response, and climbed out of the car. Johnathan sighed, and followed suit.  
Johnathan rang the doorbell, and a smiling man in a blue striped shirt answered. “Johnathan, Hello!” he greeted, and then turned to Spot with the same smile. Spot hated him already. 

"Come in, you two,” he held the door open, and Spot followed Johnathan into the house. The bird obsession continued in the hall, which was decorated with bird related objects and artwork. Spot decided that these people were probably psychos who would murder him and turn his skin into a bird feeder.

“The kids should be home from school any minute, but for now, come sit.”  
He smiled at Spot, who still felt sick from the car ride, and wasn’t exactly in the mood to be chummy. “So. Sean, right? I’m Bryan Denton”.  
“Fuck off.”  
“Sean!” Johnathan was annoyed, Johnathan was always annoyed, but this Denton guy barely reacted.  
"It's fine, Johnathan. New places can be stressful." He turned back to Spot. "So, Sean. How do you feel about cats?" Cats? Where the fuck did that come from? Spot didn't answer, just glared at Denton some more. "Sean," Johnathan said sternly. "We've talked about this. You can't just ignore people or curse at them. Answer the question." Spot looked back at Denton and was surprised to see that he was frowning, but at Johnathan, not him. 

He looked about to speak, but was interrupted by a hurricane of a child bursting through the door.  
"Hi dad, whose car is in the driveway? I learned about whales at school, didja know that a grown up man could fit inside a whale's heart? I think the whale would die though, so I hope nobody ever tries." The kid stopped suddenly when he noticed the two strangers in the room. 

"Sean, this is my son, Les. Les, this is Sean, he's going to be staying with us."  
The kid gave Spot a gap-toothed grin, dumping his backpack on the floor to wave. "Hiya Sean! I'm Les, and I'm almost ten. How old're you?" He continued without waiting for an answer. "I was at school, I'm in the 4th grade with Mr. Sharr, he's the best! David and Sarah are in high school, they're twins, and David says….."  
Spot tuned out the chatter, looking up as two more people came in the door, a boy and a girl, both probably around 16 and carrying instrument cases that Spot didn't recognize. 

"Nice to meet you, kids. I'm Johnathan, Sean's social worker." Johnathan gave them a tired smile. Spot really wanted to hurt him.  
The girl, Les had called her Sarah, set down her instrument and sat on the couch, beckoning her brothers over.  
"Hey. I'm Sarah, over there awkwardly by the door is David." She smiled and held out her hand in a greeting. Spot debated whether or not to spit in it, just to see what she would do, but decided against it, muttering his usual greeting under his breath.  
“What? Didn’t hear that.”  
“I said Fuck OFF.”  
“Sean!” Johnathan said sharply, looking pointedly between Spot and Les. Spot glared at his social worker defiantly. So what if the kid learned a couple new words today? His parents should thank him for rounding out his education. 

"Kids, why don't you give Sean here the tour of the house?" Bryan said, ignoring Spot's scowling face. "Mr. Nichols and I just have some final things to take care of."

David, Les, and Sarah immediately got up, obviously ready to be away from the awkwardness that was Johnathan's shitty personality.  
Spot followed them, as Les immediately took charge. "Here's the livin' room, and we keep the bookshelf in here but there's other ones in almost every room cause Dad likes books, an' the TV's in here too, so it's nice to be in here." He led the group out, blissfully unaware of Denton's amusement. Spot noticed, and, like just about everything did, it pissed him off. 

"This is the kitchen, all the food's in here". Sarah groaned. "Les, I think he knows what a kitchen is." The little boy frowned. "I know that, Sarah, I'm just tryin' to give the tour right."  
"You're doing great, Les." David said, voice strained. "Let's keep going. Sean probably wants to be able to put his things away."  
Les bounced up the stairs, the argument immediately forgotten. Sarah followed him, but David just stood there like an idiot.  
"What?" Spot demanded.  
"After you," David said, gesturing to the stairs.  
Spot resisted the urge to swear in front of the little kid. This time.  
"Whatever."  
“Alright”. David said, clearly uncomfortable. Spot stomped up the stairs, coming to a stop beside Sarah and Les. 

David opened a door to their left.  
“Well, this is your room. I’m next door, Les is next to me, Sarah’s down the hall. Bathroom’s across from her. We all share, so if you need it in the mornings, get in before she does.”  
“Hey!” Sarah said, indignant. “You’re the one who spends an eternity in the shower! You don’t even have hair!”  
David ignored her, continuing. “Bryan's bedroom is downstairs, if you need him.”  
Spot snorted a reply.  
"Anything else you need?" David asked, still looking stiff and uncomfortable.  
"I need you to get the stick out of your ass."  
Sarah let out a surprised laugh, and David's face turned red. He turned on his heel and left. Sarah followed him, still giggling, but stopped halfway out the door. "Glad to have you here, Sean."  
"Fuck off." He muttered, and she frowned, but left. Finally. 

Spot relaxed a little, laying back on the bed. He hated that part of relocating. All the awkward "here's my house, I mean our house. But don't touch anything and if you break something you're dead. Here, we have one room that you can taint with your existence."  
But now he was alone, and it was quiet. And now his stomach hurt. It always fucking hurt. He rolled over onto his front, which helped a little. He shrugged off his jacket, a red hoodie. Balling it up into a pillow, he buried his face in the soft fabric and closed his eyes. Breathing in the familiar smell, he could finally really relax.


	2. Chapter 2 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is basically the same as last chapter, just from David's perspective.
> 
> I'm planning on doing every chapter from both of their perspectives, and posting one on Wednesday, the next on Thursday. 
> 
> Only time will tell if I actually stay that dedicated or not.

"What do you think the new kid's gonna be like?" Les was excited, as always. David wished he shared the same enthusiasm. He'd never been that great at meeting new people.  
"Probably he has 16 toes on each foot, and one eye." Mush teased from his spot beside Les.  
The little boy giggled. "Like Blink?"  
"Don’t be silly, Les. Blink doesn't have that many toes." Les laughed hysterically at this. Some things are only funny if you're nine.  
David pulled into Mush's driveway to drop him off.  
"Good luck with the new kid, guys. See ya Monday." He hopped out, waving to his friends on the way.  
David backed out and headed towards their house. It was only a few minutes away, so he always dropped Mush off after school.  
"Hey Les, do me a favor, and don't harass the new kid too much on his first day here," Sarah said. Les wrinkled his nose in confusion. "I never harass anybody!"  
David tried to hide a laugh at that utterly untrue claim, but failed.  
"Les, she just means maybe give him time to settle in before trying to be best friends, right, Sarah?"  
"Right."  
Les sighed. "Okay, I'll try."

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

The most obvious thing about Sean was his size. Bryan had said he was fourteen, but this kid was tiny. He was short and scrawny, with thin arms and a girlish face. 

The boy had longish brown hair that flopped in his eyes, and wore a black t-shirt with a scowl on his face dark enough to match it. The clothes dwarfed his skinny frame, making him look even smaller than he already was.  
He bit at his knuckle, probably a habit if his already red fingers showed anything.

Les had, of course, immediately forgotten to tone down the energy, bursting into the room like a human tornado as soon as he got home, so David couldn't blame Sean for being a bit nervous. After a Les-style welcome, anyone would be a little on edge. 

Sarah immediately went to introduce herself, leaving David to stand awkwardly in the doorway. Sarah didn't fail to point this out, either. And the sister of the year award goes to…..  
Then she gave him an opening, waving him over to sit with her, an opportunity which he gratefully took.  
"Hey, I'm Sarah, and over there standing awkwardly by the door is David." David did his best to smile at Sean, though it was hard when the kid was glaring at him like that.  
He liked him a lot less immediately after, when he told Sarah to fuck off. Apparently, the social worker, Johnathan, was frustrated with Sean’s attitude too, though Bryan didn’t seem too happy to hear him scolding the kid.  
It was uncomfortably tense, so David was happy to jump up when Bryan suggested they give Sean a tour of the house. Anything to get away from the two older men at this point. 

David trailed behind the others as Les gave a very chatty tour of the house.  
"Les, I think he knows what a kitchen is," Sarah teased, much to Les' annoyance.  
"You're doing great, Les."  
If Sarah and Les got into an argument now, they'd be there all day.  
Les continued with his tour, chattering away again with Sarah on his heels. David waited for Sean to go up the stairs first. “After you.”  
“Whatever,”  
“Alright,” David managed to get out as Sean stomped up the stairs. Of course, he’d managed to alienate the new kid already. He sighed, and hurried to catch up. 

Sean’s room was the designated “spare” room, which Bryan made sure was always set up in case of any emergency placement. They’d had to replace the sheets this morning though, since the cats usually claimed the bed if the room was unoccupied. Bryan had apparently left a candle burning, as the entire room smelled clean and flowery. It really just made David’s nose feel all stuffy, but it was definitely better than the whole place smelling like cats. He really didn’t get how Bryan could be so obsessed with birds, yet still love cats just as much.  
“Well, this is your room. I’m next door, Les is next to me, Sarah’s down the hall. Bathroom’s across from her. We all share, so if you need it in the mornings, get in before she does.” David tried halfheartedly to joke around.  
“Hey!” Sarah said, indignant. “You’re the one who spends an eternity in the shower! You don’t even have hair!”  
David ignored her, continuing. “Bryan's bedroom is downstairs, if you need him.”  
Sean just snorted, like David had said something incredibly stupid, but he really had no idea what.  
"Anything else you need?" David asked, trying to be friendly.  
"I need you to get the stick out of your ass."  
Sarah let out a surprised laugh, and David felt his face flush. He turned on his heel and walked down the stairs, trying no to let his annoyance show. He could hear his sister giggle, then shut the door. He hadn’t even been here an hour, and already this kid was getting on his nerves. Great. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

"Bryan, I can already tell, I'm gonna hate this kid." David grumbled as he helped his father finish dinner.  
"C'mon David. He's fourteen, and he just got here. Give him a chance."  
David sighed. "Fine. But only because it's you who wants me to". Bryan ruffled his hair affectionately.  
David headed upstairs. "I'm going to go call Jack before dinner. He wanted to know how it went."  
"Alright, don't stay on too long. Should be about ten minutes. Love you, buddy."  
"Love you too Bryan."

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

"Are you going to finish that?" Les asked.  
Sean hadn't finished his food, and was more just pushing his macaroni around with his fork. He handed the plate to the little boy silently.  
"Les," Sarah scolded gently. "Don't make Sean give up his food for you. Sean, you don't have to give it to him."  
Sean shrugged, staring at the table. "S'fine. I'm not going to finish it." David was pretty sure that was the first non-swear word he’d heard the other boy say, and he looked at him curiously. He hadn't even eaten half of his food, surely he was hungry? Bryan made good macaroni too. How could anyone possibly be that picky?  
"What?" Sean was scowling.  
Obviously he'd realized David was looking at him.  
"Nothing, sorry," David stumbled.  
"Then quit starin' at me, asshole."  
David opened his mouth to tell Sean off for the language around Les, but he remembered his promise to Bryan, and stopped himself.  
Sean shoved his chair back roughly and stomped upstairs.  
"Sean," Bryan called, half standing from his chair. He looked like he wanted to go after him, but then seemed to think better of it, and sat down with a sigh.  
“I don’t think he likes us.” Les noted sadly.  
“Be patient, buddy. He’s had a long day, and this is all new for him. Give him a chance to settle in.” Les nodded, and David immediately felt bad. He should put more effort into making Sean comfortable, if this was going to be his home for a while.  
After all, David knew as well as anyone how it felt to be out of place. Even just at school, he took longer to get to know people than Sarah or Les did, and sometimes had trouble making friends. He knew how lucky he was to have a small group of close friends like Mush and Blink and Jack, but Sean was new; he wouldn’t have that here. The poor kid didn’t even have a familiar bedroom to hide away from the world in.  
David resolved to be a better host to this new kid. It was the least he could do.


	3. Chapter 3 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First day of school, Spot is not having a great time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided that updating on a set schedule is not going to actually end up happening because I'm too excited to post chapters as I finish them and I'm impatient. 
> 
> This is also why the chapters are kinda short.
> 
> Also, not sure if I'm going to write EVERY chapter from both David and Spot's perspective, since that's gonna get painfully repetitive, but it'll be something like that.

Spot’s stomach hurt, though this time it might have been mostly nerves. His stomach would probably be a star gymnast, if not for the fact that it was stuck in his body, which would never under any circumstances be put in a leotard, so gymnastics was off the table. He was painfully aware of the fact that he actually had no idea what would be on the table.

He’d had about a month of high school with the last family, who decided that they didn’t want to deal with a kid who got suspended before the first quarter was up. So yeah, his high school experience was limited. He chewed on his knuckle anxiously, but stopped when he broke the scabbed skin again. 

Everyone at this school would be at least a year older than him, thanks to that family when he was younger who’d decided to stick him in kindergarten early so they didn’t have to actually take care of him.  
That was before he’d turned into a “problem child”, so they were pretty much just very shitty people. He should probably stop thinking about that; it was making his stomach do an even more intense acrobatics routine. A perfect 10/10 from Mr. Gymnastics Judge Spot’s Brain.

Spot pulled a cigarette out of his backpack and lit it in an attempt to hopefully calm himself down enough to ease the cramping in his abdomen. Of course, David had something to say about it. 

"Can you please put that out?" His voice was strained, but he was clearly trying to sound friendly. Spot really wanted to hurt him.  
"Fuck off." Always a reliable response. 

David frowned, but still kept his eyes on the road. Spot was almost disappointed. It was a lot less fun to screw with people when they didn't react. 

They pulled into the school parking lot, and David parked the car, taking approximately four hours to straighten the car in the parking space. Spot was already learning that David drove like an old woman. At least it didn’t make him carsick. 

“Millie!” Sarah shouted immediately after getting out of the car. She ran across the parking lot to her friend, nearly getting hit twice, but never stopping. David sighed.

“Sean, the offices are-”  
“I can figure it out” Spot interrupted. David rolled his eyes. “Alright. Well, There isn’t band practice on Mondays, so I’ll be able to drive you home today after school. Just meet by the car.”

“Whatever.” 

David shrugged, and turned to Mush. “Come on, I want to put my horn away before class”. 

Spot probably should have let David tell him where the offices were. This school was pretty big, and he had no idea where to go. He swore under his breath, and wandered towards what he thought was the middle of the building. Offices were usually somewhere around there. Luckily, he managed to find the guidance office fairly quickly. The receptionist took his name, typed something in the computer, and told him to have a seat by the table. 

Soon he was greeted by a smiling woman, probably in her thirties or forties. She was tall and thin, and wore a lot of makeup. By her side was an older man who looked supremely uncomfortable

“Hello there! I’m Ms. Larkson, your guidance counselor, and this is Principal Sarrens." That was a bit of a surprise. This guy didn't really look like he could be the boss of anybody. Well, time to see what these people were made of. 

"I dont give a fuck." 

A satisfyingly uncomfortable silence followed.  
Sarrens coughed awkwardly. "Well, Mr. Conlon, let's take a look at your schedule, shall we?" He plastered a fake smile on over the frown he was failing to hide, and opened the file on the table. "It looks like you qualify for an advanced English course, so that's nice."

"Fucking peachy" Spot muttered, enjoying the amusing shade of purple Sarrens turned. Ms. Larkson took over, gracefully ignoring the profanity. She smiled, pointing to a separate sheet of paper. "You'll have to choose an elective. Band is fairly popular at this school, though the marching season has already started. I'm sure your foster siblings could get you caught up, though." Spot just glared at her. She looked uncomfortable too now. "Or, there are other alternatives if you'd like. We have art classes, shop, theater, which I help out with, lots of options" 

"I don’t care." Spot snapped. "Just sign me up for whatever." Ms. Larkson clicked away at her laptop. "Alright. I'll put you as undecided for now, if that's alright, Mr. Sarrens?" She didn't wait for a response. "You can talk it over with your family, just let me know what you decide by the end of the week, alright?”

She took his silence as affirmation, and smiled, reaching for the new sheet that had printed. “You’ll have to see the nurse during that period today anyway, just to get all your information checked and updated.” Great. More people to prod at him and ask questions that he didn’t want to answer. 

"Well, here's your schedule! I'll get one of our office aides to show you to your first class, alright?"  
Spot looked at the paper in his hands. It looked like he had a history class first period, followed by PE, Biology, and Advanced Literature, then lunch, Spanish, Algebra, and Open Elective. He briefly wondered if he should ask to see the list of electives again, but then decided he didn't care enough to bother.

“Sean, this is Michael. He’ll show you to your first class”. It was David’s friend, Mush. Dumb nickname, not that a kid who went by Spot had much room to talk. Mush smiled, giving him a little wave and turning to the two adults. “I know him, Ms. Larkson. His foster brother’s one of my best friends”. The counselor smiled in pleased surprise. 

“Well, that’s perfect. He has Mrs. Hill first period, could you show him to her class please?” Mush nodded, holding the door for Spot, who responded by glaring. Mush apparently didn’t care that Spot hated him, because he started to chatter as soon as they left the office. 

“Nice to see you again, Sean. We didn’t get to talk much in the car, I bet you’re nervous, huh? David said you probably are, he said “Mush, don’t take it personally, he’s probably nervous being new and stuff”, and I said “okay Davey. I’ll do my best as a school ambassador to make Sean feel welcome”. Dave laughed, but I’m serious. I take my welcoming job seriously. It’s a serious job.” 

Spot just stared at him. He didn’t really know how to respond to Mush’s fast-paced conversation, which didn’t really seem to have any real point to it. He decided to change the subject, since Mush looked like he was about to start talking again. 

"Why do they call you Mush, anyway?" He did his best to sound as judgemental as possible, but Mush remained annoyingly unfazed. 

"I originally played trumpet, but I sucked, like, really sucked. My real name’s Michael, by the way, like Ms. Larkson said. Anyways, the notes all sounded mushed together apparently, I think Jack once called me Mushy Meyers, and it just kinda stuck." 

He flipped his water bottle in his hand absently, and continued to chatter away. “Now I’m in color guard, which is basically dance, and way more fun. It’s mostly girls, but Louis says-he’s the instructor, by the way. Anyways, Louis says that’s no reason I can’t do it too. I think mostly….” 

Sean tuned him out again, thinking maybe they called him Mush because that was what happened if you talked to him for too long. Your brain turned to mush. He focused on getting his bearings in the empty halls, since they’d be infinitely more confusing when crowded with students. 

“Well, here we are,” Mush announced. “You’ll like Mrs. Hill. Everybody does, she’s real nice. I’ll see you later, probably in the car, or maybe before, who knows?” He wandered off back towards the offices, still chattering away over his shoulder. Spot sighed, half with relief, but also partly because now he had to actually knock on the door to the classroom. He fixed a scowl on his face, and knocked.


	4. Chapter 4 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of past abuse
> 
> There is entirely too little Boots in this fandom and I will not stand for it. 
> 
> This is more of a continuation of last chapter, so it's still from Spot's perspective, mainly because he's easier for me to write for some reason.  
> Hope you like it!
> 
> Fun fact, Mrs. Milton is inspired by my favorite teacher ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Im on a roll right now! School is cancelled for like 3 weeks because we're currently quarantined, and I work in a restaurant normally so at the moment I have a lot of free time!  
> Assuming I dont get cursed with writers block, I should be updating a lot!

History passed without incident, save for a girl who wouldnt shut up until he told her to fuck off. The teacher looked at him in disapproval, but she didn't do anything about it. 

PE was the same. The gym teacher, an overweight man wearing sweatpants, just told Spot to go walk the track with the other kids and then turned back to his cell phone. Spot was glad he didn't have to run today. He was reasonably athletic, but right now his knee hurt like hell and his stomach was still turning. He also didn't really feel like talking to anybody, but unfortunately, he was in the same class as the incredibly friendly, incredibly annoying Mush, who followed him around the track all period, chattering like a fucking squirrel. Apparently, his job as “School Ambassador” was some kind of club title. Spot personally thought it was stupid, and he told Mush this. Mush didn’t care at all, much to his annoyance. 

Spot almost felt a positive emotion when the period ended. Almost. 

The biology teacher, Mrs. Milton, was a bouncy woman with curly hair and earrings shaped like little dinosaurs chomping at her earlobes. She seemed to actually give a fuck, unfortunately.

"I'm so happy to meet you!" She chirped as soon as Spot walked through the door. He immediately decided that he hated her. She pointed him to a free seat near the back of the class, next to a sturdily built boy with longish dark hair. He introduced himself as Dominic, and then turned back to his paper silently.  
They'd get along just fine. 

Unfortunately, Spot saw another familiar face in Advanced Literature class, and this one not nearly as friendly as Mush. David was there, chatting animatedly with a curly haired boy with a crutch beside his desk. He looked up and glanced at Spot, who pointedly sat as far from them as possible. The teacher was an older man who introduced himself as "Just Lamping, no Mister". Great. A chummy teacher. This class couldn’t possibly get any worse. He decided he’d sleep through it, probably every day if possible. He put his head on his desk and pretended he didn’t notice David glowering at him. 

This entire class was filled with students who were much older than he was, and he felt really out of place. Everyone was closer to David’s age, but they all seemed fairly uninterested in the skinny kid in the corner. Apparently, David was “That Kid”. His hand was always up, and he took diligent notes over just about everything. Dave and his excessive paper usage were single handedly responsible for all the deforestation that Mrs. Milton had been yammering about less than an hour before. 

According to Lamping, Spot was a few chapters behind in Frankenstein, but he’d probably be able to catch up. He’d figure out soon enough that Spot had no intention of reading any of it. The period passed without incident, in part because David wasn’t close enough to Spot to hear his comments under his breath. Who gave a fuck about gothic symbolism? David, apparently, if his enthusiastic participation was anything to show for it. 

Spot was hating his foster brother more and more every second. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

The cafeteria was loud and, if he was being honest, stressful. It was crowded, and Spot didn’t know where to sit. He found an empty table to the side of the room and set down his book before getting his food. In theory, he could have sat with David and his friends; they all ate lunch at the same time, but he unfortunately had made an appointment with the devil to have him stick needles in his eyes, and that sounded much more fun than spending all of lunch forced to exist near David. Besides, sitting with your foster brother was basically the most loser thing you could do on the first day. 

Though he'd always done it with Boots… But Boots was different. They'd actually been friends while they lived together. Boots was a foster kid too; they'd met in a group home. The boy was much smarter and more socially adept than Spot had ever been, yet he for some reason decided to attach himself to a kid who was in trouble more often than not. 

Boots had been his first real friend, and his best friend. Spot actually missed him, a lot. The boy had very little faith in the kindness of people, which had actually been how he got his nickname. He always slept holding his boots like a teddy bear, so nobody stole them. 

Spot smiled at the memory, not caring that he probably looked like a nutjob, standing there grinning like an idiot with his styrofoam lunch tray. 

Skittery, an older boy in the home, gave everyone the nicknames. Spot's was because of the scars that littered his chest and arms. They were faint now, but if you really looked, you could see the small dots from cigarette burns that spattered across his skin. His parents had been full of more issues than Denton’s magazine bookshelf. 

Spot put the scowl back on his face as he got his food. Not hard when he dug up those memories. Apparently the special was “Chicken Nuggets”. Spot really doubted they contained any chicken. The lunch lady gave him a friendly smile as he showed her his ID. As a foster kid, Spot automatically qualified for free lunches, though he couldn’t really eat half of the food they had here. It was greasy and processed, and he knew from experience that he’d regret eating most of it. At times like this, he was really grateful for his small appetite. 

Spot ate his apple, pretty much the only part of his lunch that wasn’t greasy. He wasn’t exactly in the mood to puke on the first day of school. They could make him take the food; they couldn’t make him eat it. 

He didn’t feel like talking to anyone, so out came the book again. It kind of affected his badass punk kid reputation, being seen with his nose in Frankenstein, which he was surprised to find himself enjoying, considering it was required for Advanced Lit. 

This Mary Shelley lady had a seriously fucked up mind. She’d probably been the kid who set ants on fire with a magnifying glass just to watch them burn up. Spot didn’t like those kids. He might be a short-fused basketcase with a bad attitude, but he wasn’t a psychopath. 

The bell rang, signifying the end of lunch, and he tossed the remainder of his food in the trash, heading to his next class. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Spanish had made zero sense whatsoever, and Spot was glad to be out of there when the period ended. Apparently the teacher didn’t understand what “Beginning Level” meant, and assumed that they were all naturally fluent. 

While he'd been able to tune everything out in most of the previous classes, the algebra teacher, Mr. Yales, had clearly decided that Spot was going to participate, whether he liked it or not. Spot hated math anyway, and right now, being the first day at a new school, and having this bastard breathing down his neck, he hated it even more. 

"Mr. Conlon" he called, snapping Spot back to attention. "Do try and stay with the rest of the class, alright?" His voice dripped with patronizing sarcasm as he turned back to whatever he was doing on the board.  
"Fuck you."  
The man's face changed in an instant, and everyone in the class turned to stare at Spot.  
"Excuse me?"

"I said. Fuck. You." If this guy was going to hate his guts anyway, might as well give him a reason to.  
“Go to the office, now. I’ll call and let them know you’re coming.” Normally Spot ignored anything that sounded like an order, just on principle, but he’d really do just about anything to get out of this classroom. He tossed his backpack over one shoulder and stalked out of the room, enjoying the way the other students stared


	5. Chapter 5 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot's first day of school from David's perspective, and also, we get to see some Javid, which is always a good thing imo. 
> 
> Disclaimer: to any low brass players out there, I play tuba, so dont be offended by David's opinion that it's their fault the band room smells weird. This opinion is David's own, and does not reflect the author's personal opinions.  
> (It is their fault though)

The ride to school was incredibly awkward. First of all, it was cramped, with Sarah, Les, and Mush squished in the back row, Sean having claimed the passenger seat. David made a mental note to ask Bryan to let him take the minivan for carpooling. 

Sean had also apparently never been taught that smoking in the car was, in fact, frowned upon by civilized people. Or maybe he had, he just didn’t care. He certainly hadn’t cared when David told him to stop it.  
To be fair, David couldn’t speak for all people, but he was fairly certain that at least everyone else in his car didn’t appreciate risking lung cancer due to secondhand smoke. 

Even Mush, outgoing, irresistibly cheerful Mush, couldn’t get Sean to say anything other than “Fuck Off.” Thankfully, the elementary school was close by, so Les didn’t hear it more than about seventeen times. 

David was really starting to get annoyed. That weekend had been pretty much torture. The whole family was trying to be understanding and welcome Sean, but man, he did not make it easy. 

At least Sarah and Mush didn’t have to be practically on top of each other without Les in the car. David pulled carefully into a parking space, ignoring Sean’s grumbling about his driving, which was apparently comparable to “a fucking old person”. 

Sarah hopped out of the car as soon as David put it in park, running across the parking lot with no regard for the moving cars. David sighed. Sarah was technically the older twin, but sometimes she was as bad as Les. 

“Sean, the offices are-” he was interrupted immediately.  
“I can figure it out.” David rolled his eyes. Sarah was sometimes like a child, but Sean seemed to always act like a foul-mouthed preschooler.  
If he got lost, that was his own fault.

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

The band room always had a distinct musty smell. David blamed the low brass, specifically the tubas. With the exception of Sarah, he was pretty sure none of them showered regularly, and Sarah didn’t really count, since she only played tuba half the year. 

The room was also really loud, so David stashed his clarinet in his cubby as quickly as possible. He hurried out into the much calmer hallway to wait for Mush, who was of course already involved in a very animated conversation with the rest of the color guard. 

David waited impatiently for Mush to come out. If he didn’t hurry up, he wouldn’t have time to see Jack before first period. Mush had an assistantship in the guidance office first period, and David usually walked him there. He was about to leave when Mush finally appeared. 

“Sorry Dave, was talking to the girls. Isabelle got a new rabbit and was showing pictures, and I can’t resist pictures of fuzzy animals. It looks like a little black cotton ball, cutest thing I've ever seen." David had to smile at that. It was impossible to stay annoyed with Mush for long. He'd better interrupt, before Mush went off on both a literal and metaphorical rabbit trail from which there could be no return.  
“Come on, I want to be able to see Jack. He wanted to know how meeting Sean went.” 

Mush looked a little bit sad at that. "I don't think he likes me, Davey."  
David knew Mush really cared about being liked. He really tried to be everyone's friend, but some kids just didn't feel the same. He knew that Mush was probably the main reason he had any friends in the first place, considering that the other boy had basically adopted David into his friend group in spite of the awkwardness that was David Jacobs. 

“Don’t take it personally, Mushy. I think he’s just nervous being so new,” David lied. Sean really just seemed to be a jerk. Every time he yelled or cursed at Bryan, David wanted to hurt him even more. At least the fib seemed to make Mush happy again. 

“You’re probably right. I’ll do my best as school ambassador to make him feel real welcome, don’t you worry about that, Dave.”  
That brought out a small chuckle from David. Mush took his position as school ambassador a bit too seriously sometimes, to the point where he sometimes annoyed the new kids into avoiding him like the plague. 

He started to wish Mush luck in Operation : Be Nice to Sean when he was interrupted by a pair of arms being flung around his shoulders, nearly knocking him down with the force of the embrace. Jack was always throwing his entire body weight at people. The guy was basically an extremely affectionate dog, always wanting to be on top of, pressed against, or in some way touching his friends. David loved him more than anything in the world. 

"Hey, Davey. How's it goin'?"  
"New kid's a jerk and I have a precalc test today, but I get to see my amazing boyfriend, so I'd say I'm pretty good"  
Jack gave him a peck on the cheek, and David felt himself blushing a little.  
"Awww. Cuties" Mush grinned.  
Jack socked him in the shoulder while wrapping David in a hug.  
"Alright, I know when I'm third-wheeling. I'm gonna head to the offices now." Mush darted off, and Jack turned back to his boyfriend in concern.  
"Seriously though, I know you can't be happy getting your life flipped upside down with this new guy. How're you doing?"

David sighed. "Honestly? Not too hot. Like, I get that he just got here and needs to settle in and stuff, but it's just so weird having him here." Jack nodded sympathetically.  
Gosh, David loved his boyfriend. 

"Like, he's been here three days and already he's decided he hates me. Not to mention Les has learned, like, thirty new swear words. I had no idea there were so many different ways to use the word Fuck"  
Jack smiled at that. "Well, it's not like I always talk like I'm havin' a meeting with the queen of England"

"Yeah, but you at least sort of tone it down around Les. Sean doesn't. He's a jerk to Bryan like, all the time, and I really just want to strangle him half the time. I know I should be understanding, but ugh! He's so frustrating!" The words came out in an uncharacteristic rush of emotion, and Jack pulled him into a comforting hug. 

"Dont worry Davey. It's all gonna work out eventually," he encouraged.  
David sighed. "I hope you're right."  
"For now, just focus on what makes ya happy. Don't let him get to you, ya know?"  
David kissed Jack quickly. "You're the best, you know that?"  
Jack grinned cheekily. "Yeah, you're real lucky to have me.  
David laughed, reaching for Jack's hand as they walked. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

David actually enjoyed school. He got along well with his teachers, and had a close group of friends that he always had fun with. And there was Jack. 

They'd met through band. David had been an awkward clarinet player who couldn't keep his feet in time to save his life, and Jack was the most stereotypical trumpet player on the planet.

They wound up next to each other during a particularly difficult set, and the cocky boy had gotten sick of being stepped on or bumped into whenever David messed up. He'd offered to help David after practice, and things just grew from there. 

Jack was definitely one of the major reasons David enjoyed school. Of course, now he'd have to deal with Sean being there too, but it wasn't likely they'd have any classes together since Sean was a freshman.  
David headed for his first period class, determined not to think about Sean anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm trying to write some autistic David stuff in here, inspired by a few of my personal struggles. Marching band when you dont like it loud is not a Fun Time sometimes. 
> 
> I have pretty minor autism, so that's what Davey's gonna have since it's way easier for me to write from personal experience. 
> 
> Plus, I dont want this story to be ABOUT autism.  
> The story of my life isn't a story of autism, it's a story of Me, and autism is just a part of it so that's what this story is going to be. 
> 
> Hope you like it!


	6. Chapter 6 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> David is not fond of his "new brother"  
> Some fluff as the Jacobs kids help with dinner and also try and give a cat a bath. Fun times!

Operation : Don’t Think About Sean was a success up until fourth period. Apparently, Sean qualified for an advanced English course, the very same course David was taking. Wonderful.   
David loved this class, and he would not let Sean ruin it for him. 

To be fair, he might not even notice Sean was there, considering the boy had immediately put his head on his desk and ignored everyone, including Lamping.  
David's favorite teacher was nothing if not determined, so if anyone could get Sean to participate, it would be old Lamp. 

David distracted himself from Sean’s scowling by participating as much as possible. This was one class that he never felt self-conscious in, having complete confidence in his abilities. It helped having Charlie, one of his closest friends, for a desk partner. 

The class, and really the rest of the day flew by, and before David knew it, he was packing his clarinet carefully into its case and getting ready to leave for the day. 

“Hey Davey.”  
Jack. David smiled and turned to face the other boy.   
“Hey. What’s new, you know, in the two minutes it’s been since we last talked?” Jack grinned.   
“I was just thinkin’, we should get together sometime this week, watch Netflix and just hang out. Feels like I only ever see ya at practice, ya know?”  
“Netflix and Chill?”  
“Dave, do you know what that means?”  
“Yeah, we watch TV together and relax.”  
“It does not mean that, but, I mean, if you wanna get more intimate…” He raised an eyebrow, making David blush. 

“How about you just come over and we watch TV?” He changed the subject.  
Jack nodded seriously. “And I’ll bring a list of euphemisms so I can teach you all of them.”  
“I might just have to take you up on that.”

He promised to ask Bryan about it when he got home, and text to let Jack know what he said. By now Sarah had finished whatever drum major stuff she’d been doing, so David gave Jack a quick kiss before hurrying to follow. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------  
Sean was already waiting for them, leaning on the side of the car when David and Sarah got outside. He grumbled something about them taking their time, which David ignored. He was in a pretty good mood after talking with Jack. Sean climbed into the back, probably so he didn’t have to sit by David. 

Sarah didn’t like to drive, enjoying the extra time to do her homework if she rode, so David drove them home. He was lost deep in his thoughts, so it was a surprise when he heard Sean’s voice shortly before picking up Les from the elementary school.

“Where do I go for after school detention?”  
“What?” That was Sarah.   
“I said, where do I go-”   
“I heard the first time. How did you manage to get detention on your first day?”  
“Because I’m a fucking bastard who causes problems. Fuck off.”  
David could almost feel Sarah frowning from the passenger seat, though he didn’t take his eyes off the road. She didn’t like being brushed off, he knew. 

“You go to the cafeteria, I think,” David said, craning his neck to look for Les. He spotted his brother’s bright blue jacket and waved him over. 

“Hiya Davey, Sarah, Sean! How was school for you guys? My day was good, Mr. Sharr told us all about Egyptians and mummies and stuff. Did you guys know that they buried people with all their stuff? Dad would have like, a million books in his pyramid probably, and bird food. I think I’d have books too, and also my toy animals. Sean, what would you want to be buried with?” He didn’t wait for a reply, luckily, since he probably wouldn’t have gotten one. 

By the time they pulled into the driveway, the three teens had learned everything there was to know about Les’ ideal funeral and burial.   
He was to be buried in the backyard while the song from Lion King played in the background, and all his favorite books and toy animals should be buried with him, along with David, Sarah, and Bryan, so he wouldn’t be lonely “for all of forever and ever in heaven”.

Sean looked to be in physical pain, and David almost felt bad for him. Almost. 

“Look,” He said, trying to sound serious. “I don’t care what you did to get detention. I really don’t. But please, don’t do it again. Don’t make Bryan deal with that.”

“He shoulda thought of that before he took on the local discipline case.”

David pulled into the driveway, but locked the doors so Sean couldn’t leave. Sarah and Les looked extremely uncomfortable as the skinny boy slammed his shoulder at the door in irritation.   
"Jesus." He glared at David. 

“I just told Yales to fuck off because he was being a dick. I didn’t even hit that fucking suck up kid in the office, they stopped me, so I don’t see what you’re losing your shit about it for. 

“I mean it. You’d better tell Bryan about this.”  
Sean just snorted.   
“Seriously. Tell him.” David ordered. Sean ignored him, fiddling with the lock until it clicked open. He slid out of the car and bolted inside.  
“Sean!” David yelled, following him into the house, Les and Sarah trailing behind.

"You tell him or I will" David shouted. He heard a door slam, and he turned and faked slamming his head into the wall, making Sarah smile. 

“Tell me what?” Concern was written all over Bryan’s face, and David felt guilty. Even if it wasn’t his fault, he still hated to see his father disappointed or upset.   
“Sean sort of got into an argument with a teacher today? And apparently tried to attack an office aide? I’m not really sure, I don’t think he told us the whole story. But yeah. He has detention, it’s always on Tuesdays, so tomorrow I guess.”

“I guess I should go talk to him, huh?” Bryan gave the twins a half smile, which David forced himself to return. The man sighed, and headed up the stairs.   
“Poor Bryan,” Sarah commented. “I really doubt that conversation will contain less than forty swear words.”

David grinned weakly at that. “Probably. What d’you think he’ll do about it?”   
She shrugged. “I don’t know, Bryan doesn’t really get… mad, you know?”   
“Yeah.”   
“Let’s get dinner started, help him out a little,” Sarah suggested.   
“Good idea. I’ll get Les to do a salad.”   
“Don’t let him burn the house down.”  
“It’s a salad Sarah. How badly can he possibly mess it up?"

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Apparently, it was possible to seriously mess up a salad, but it hadn’t been entirely Les’ fault. 

Lenny, one of the cats, had decided that an unattended salad bowl (with Les’ generous idea of how much dressing was needed, meaning it was basically vinaigrette soup with some lettuce) was the perfect place for a nap.

“It’s ruined!” Les cried. “Bad kitty!”

The fluffy orange cat chirped a greeting from his leafy bed. He clearly saw no problem with these sleeping arrangements, even as his fur got soaked.  
“It’s okay, Les,” Sarah soothed, clearly trying not to laugh. “I’ll help you make a new one.”  
David frowned at the cat, hands on his hips in pretend disapproval. “We’d better give Lenny a bath first. All that dressing can’t be good for him to lick off.” 

He sent Les to grab the “just in case” baby shampoo from the bathroom while Sarah filled the sink with warm water. That left David to try and wrangle the very slippery Lenny, who obviously thought that this was a fun new game of tag. 

David grabbed for the cat, who bounced from the counter and onto the floor, sending the salad bowl flying as he escaped. Sarah shrieked as salad hit her directly in the face, followed by a brother to the knees when David lunged after the escaping cat.

Les ran into the kitchen and immediately slipped in a puddle of salad dressing, landing flat on his back and spraying soap everywhere. When David reached to help him up, he found his back being used as a springboard for a ten pound cat to jump off of. Not that ten pounds was particularly heavy, but when you weren’t expecting it, it was enough to make a guy stumble, possibly into a stepstool, which is pretty easy to trip over, especially if you’re tall and awkward, like David was. 

He nearly landed on top of his brother, and twisted into a ridiculous pretzel to avoid crushing the little boy. Sarah fell over onto her side, clutching at her bruised knee and laughing hysterically. 

“What are you three doing down here?!”  
Bryan stood in the doorway, Lenny perched on his shoulder, fur spiked up like a deranged orange possum. The three Jacobs children looked at each other. They were covered with salad bits, soap, and cat hair, and somehow the dressing had gotten everywhere, including on the ceiling. 

Les started to giggle, flicking a lettuce leaf out of his sister’s hair. She started to laugh too, and then David. Finally Bryan couldn’t pretend to be angry either.   
“At least-” David wheezed through laughs. “At least the kitchen smells nice and soapy now.” Bryan laughed, the tired lines in his face disappearing. 

“Let’s get this cleaned up.” He helped his kids to their feet, and delegated tasks, leaving the difficult job of bathing the cat to himself. 

David, being the tallest, stood on a chair and cleaned the salad dressing off the ceiling with a rag. Lenny seemed to actually enjoy having Bryan wash him in the sink. The guy was a real miracle worker when it came to cats, though David supposed it probably helped that Lenny only possessed the brains of a refrigerator door. 

“Where’s Sean?” Sarah asked as she remade the salad.   
“He’s in his room. Give him some space, he says he wants to be alone.”  
“What happened?” Les asked, tossing the limp lettuce bits into the compost bucket to bring outside later.   
“If he wants to talk about it, he will.” Bryan said firmly. “Don’t be bothering him about it.”   
There wasn't any discussion to be had when Bryan spoke like that, so they just finished cleaning the mess.  
It was so peaceful. David knew it was probably too good to last. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Once again, Sean spent the majority of dinner shoving his food, spaghetti this time, around on his plate. Les didn't seem to notice that he clearly wanted to be left alone, and spent the entire meal telling him every detail about his day, up until they all sat down to eat together. Sean was starting to get a vacant look in his eyes when Sarah came to his rescue. 

"Les, can you tell me more about whales? You didn't get to finish your story this morning, remember?" The little boy's face lit up with happiness, and he turned his chatter to his sister. 

David let his mind wander as he ate, swirling his pasta absently around his fork. This really hadn't been a great day, but all things considered, it could have been worse. 

Bryan was of the opinion that the school was already punishing Sean by giving him detention, and it wouldn’t be fair to punish him twice. David privately felt that Sean was getting off lightly with the school, since he was “troubled”. David himself had a reputation as a bit of a goody two-shoes, so he didn’t really get in trouble, but he was willing to bet that if Jack pulled something like that, he’d probably get suspended. 

He was snapped out of his thoughts when Sean slid his chair back suddenly and practically ran up the stairs, tripping halfway up. He looked curiously at Sarah, who seemed just as confused as he was.   
Bryan sighed again. That sound was becoming increasingly more common since Sean came to live with them, and David couldn't stand it. 

They used to be a happy family, and he was ruining it. David found himself hating the new kid more and more.


	7. Chapter 7 (Spot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of past abuse  
> Someone give this boy a hug, and some remicade (treatment for crohns). 
> 
> Would like to note that I do not recommend using smoking to treat gastrointestinal issues, but I know some people do, and it seemed like something Spot would do as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan to update once a week has been thrown out the window due to me being bored out of my mind.  
> I'm not having classes for three weeks and already starting to go a bit stir crazy. Just glad I have my guinea pigs to keep me company.

Denton sat on the edge of the cheerful yellow bedspread and turned a small glass bird over in his hands. (What was it with him and these birds? They were in Every. Fucking. Room. It was so stupid.)   
He didn't get mad, or yell, or anything. He just seemed disappointed. Disappointed and tired. Spot felt almost guilty, but he reminded himself that he didn't care how these people felt, about him or anything else. 

“I’d like to hear from you what happened, if that’s okay.”

"I don't want to talk about it." he clenched his teeth to hide the stabbing pain in his stomach. It always seemed to get worse when he got riled up. 

“Well, right now I'm going off what David said, and the school is probably going to call me at some point, so I’m going to find out eventually. I promise, I won’t be mad if you tell me.”

"I DONT want to TALK about it." Spot knew he was starting to push it. He probably couldn't keep this attitude up much longer before Denton actually got pissed. He found himself chewing at his knuckle again, but he stopped himself before it broke the skin. 

"Well, what DO you want, Sean?"  
What? Nobody asked him that. They told him what to do, and he ignored them. That was how it worked.

"I want you to leave me alone".   
Denton sighed, but he got up, rubbing his forehead in frustration. 

"Denton?"

The man paused halfway out the door. "Yeah, bud?"  
"I didn't attack anyone."  
He rolled on his side to face the wall, not wanting to see Denton's reaction. He didn't know why he'd said that. Spot could feel the man looking at him, but he didn't make him elaborate. 

"Alright, Sean. I'll let you know when dinner is ready." His voice was soft, and he shut the door behind him quietly. Spot buried his face in his arms and breathed deeply, like Skittery had taught him when he freaked out as a little kid. 

He was starting to get sort of used to the way this place smelled, but right now he needed something familiar. He shuddered in a breath, willing himself not to cry. Spot Conlon did not cry, especially when nothing had even happened. He didn't know why he was so upset all of a sudden. 

He knew what David would think. He already thought Spot had gotten off too easily, that he should be punished more. Honestly, Spot didn’t really know why he wasn’t in more trouble, either. Most of the time, he would consider himself lucky if he just got screamed at for pulling something like that, but he’d also been beat over less in some of the worse homes. He’d never gotten so little flack for that kind of thing.  
Not that he was complaining, obviously, it was just weird. 

Denton didn’t do anything. He’d just talked. Asked Spot to explain himself, and sat there until he did. Spot was starting to see where David got it from, but Denton was definitely less annoying about it. 

He might as well get a start on homework.   
Good grades would be a start to getting a real future for himself once he aged out of the system. Spot was going to need as much help as he could get. 

He pulled out his phone to put on background noise. The screen was cracked, had been when he'd gotten it. But he could listen to music, and text people. People meaning Boots. His finger hovered over the contact, wanting to talk to his friend, hear his voice again. He sighed and went into his playlist instead.   
He'd missed half the math class, so he had a lot of catching up to do. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Spot was beginning to think Les was stupid. He thought he was making it clear that he didn't want to talk, but the kid either didn't notice or didn't care. Spot did not care that Louie whatever-his-lastname-is got new shoes, even if they lit up. 

Sarah, now his favorite member of this family, turned Les' chatter onto herself, asking him to tell her a story about whales.  
Sarah was tolerable. 

Spot had to admit, he enjoyed the food Denton made, even if he couldn't ever finish it. The pasta wasn’t an exception. Les had explained, in a confusingly roundabout way, that the pasta was boxed, but they made the sauce themselves. What that had to do with chickens, (the other half of the very one-sided conversation) he had no idea. 

Suddenly, a wave of nausea rose up from his stomach, making him dizzy. He wasn’t about to puke at the dinner table, especially after everything that had happened today. 

Vaguely aware of Denton speaking to him in concern, he slammed his chair backwards and bolted up the stairs, forgetting that there was in fact a bathroom he could’ve used right next to the kitchen.   
He missed a stair halfway up, but kept going, trying to ignore the stabbing pain in his belly. Thankfully, he made it to the bathroom before emptying his stomach painfully. 

In a moment he stood, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.   
He cupped his hands to rinse the foul taste out of his mouth with water from the faucet. 

Spot looked at his reflection and sighed. He looked pretty bad. His hair was getting long and kind of shaggy, and faint circles shadowed the just slightly too-pale skin beneath his eyes. 

The most noticeable issue was how gaunt his entire body was. Spot had always been small, but it seemed lately he’d just kept getting skinnier. It was no wonder everyone kept going easy on him; he looked pathetic.   
“Fuck,” he muttered, clutching his abdomen at a particularly excrutiating twinge in his stomach. He stumbled into his room and curled up in bed, wrapping the blanket around his shoulders and over his head. As comfortable as he was probably going to get anytime soon, Spot fell asleep. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

A few hours later, he woke up in pain again. Spot glanced at his phone for the time. 1:30. He groaned quietly, wrapping an arm around his stomach. Falling back asleep didn’t seem particularly likely, so he reached for his book and lit a cigarette to hopefully calm his uneasy stomach. 

"You're not allowed to smoke here". David interrupted Spot’s reading.   
He didn't dignify the older boy with an answer, and just kept thumbing through the pages.   
"I mean it. Put it out or-"  
"Or what? You'll go get daddy to come in and spank me?"  
He still didn't bother to look up from his book, but he could feel David scowling at him from the doorway.   
"You'd probably like that." He muttered. Definity one of his more stupid comebacks.   
Spot smirked anyway. "Maybe I would". David snorted in annoyance.  
"Well, if you won't put it out, I'm shutting the door", he said, doing just that. 

Spot went back to his book, but now he was distracted. David was a prick.   
He sighed, suddenly aware that he was exhausted.  
He put out his cigarette on the wall, leaving a satisfying ashy smear on the pale blue paint. 

He’d made it his “thing”, leaving spots on the wall of every home. He couldn’t get rid of the scars on his skin, but at least he could pretend that the nickname came from something he did, not something that was done to him. 

David had shut the door, but Spot got up to check that it was locked. If he didn't, he'd probably wake up to Les jumping on his chest or something else incredibly annoying, like a cat on his face.   
At least his stomach felt better. Maybe he’d actually get some sleep tonight.


	8. Chapter 8 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spotty joins a cult basically.
> 
> (Again, disclaimer: I play tuba so I'm allowed to say the low brass is gross)

Spot didn’t get why people made such a big deal about detentions. This school was just like any other about it. He sat in a classroom, or in this case, the cafeteria, with a few other “delinquents”, monitored by a teacher who didn’t care what they did as long as they were quiet about it for the hour that she had to “watch” them. 

She hadn’t even looked up from her phone when Spot got up to move away from the extremely affectionate couple seated next to him. He sat for the remainder of the hour doing homework next to a boy wearing pajamas who was asleep and drooling on his backpack. Honestly he probably could have just left and the teacher would never have noticed. 

After school detention ended about an hour before the band practice did, so Spot had time to sit on the bleachers and watch as the group of sweaty teens marched around on the football field. The director (David had called him Weasel, right?) seemed to be an incredible pain in the ass, always shouting at them from the press box about dots and page changes. 

Spot had to admit, it was pretty impressive what the band could do. They somehow managed to run all over the field in confusing formations and not collide, even as most of them carried around huge hunks of metal and whatever material it was that drums were made of. 

He saw Mush twirling a bright green flag, still smiling even as he dripped with sweat. Sarah stood on a raised platform, waving her arms around for some reason. Everyone on the field seemed to be mainly watching her, so he assumed she was conducting.

There was another guy on the back sideline also on a platform, but he didn’t conduct as much as he just flailed around.  
Sarah definitely seemed better at it. Her platform was certainly bigger, if that meant anything at all, which Spot had no idea if it did. David was surprisingly coordinated on the field, frowning in concentration as he walked around with his clarinet. 

His friend with the crutch was there too, but he wasn’t on the field, and instead alternated between playing a big xylophone and doing something on a laptop to make sound effects. He didn’t seem to be doing much of either at the moment, as the director wanted the band to practice without any music for some reason, which seemed to defeat the entire fucking purpose, if he’d asked Spot, which of course he did not. 

The boy caught Spot’s eye, and waved him over. He considered ignoring him, but if he was going to be in english class with him, he might as well be civil.   
Besides, Spot was getting bored. 

“Heya, you’re Davey’s newest brother, right?”  
“Yeah. Sean Conlon. And you are?” He tried to sound irritated, but he didn’t want to be too much of a jerk to a kid on crutches.   
“My name’s Charlie Morris, but most people just calls me Crutchie. We’ve got english together for fourth, right?”  
“Yeah. Lamping. With David too.” The kid grinned. “Davey’s one of my good friends. He’s a real great guy, isn’t he?”

“He’s a dick.”

Crutchie laughed. “Sometimes he seems like that at first. You gotta let him get comfortable with ya, then he’s cool.” He changed the subject, to something not David related thankfully.  
“You plannin’ on joining the band?”  
“I don’t know how to play an instrument,” Spot said. He left out the part where he also had no idea if he would even be around for the whole semester or not. 

“That’s okay, you can learn. This is my marimba,” he gestured at the thing that was apparently not called a xylophone. “Andy’s on cymbals, Louise is timpani, Millie’s chimes, and Tommy is vibraphone.” He pointed to a tall, skinny boy who waved the big metal disc, the only instrument Spot actually recognized, a curly haired girl sitting by four huge drums, a pale blonde girl hidden behind both a curtain of hair and a curtain of metal rods, and a third boy who also played something that Spot would have also called a xylophone but apparently would have been wrong about.

“We also have a sound system, but nobody really does that since Annie graduated last year. Well, right now I do it, but first of all, I can’t really move it or the marimba alone, and also, I can’t keep the sound system working while I play my music.” He grinned.   
“So you should join. We need a sound guy.”

“I guess I could ask Denton about it.” He said, though the thought of being in the same group as David and Sarah wasn’t all that appealing. But he did need an elective, and this didn’t seem worse than any other. 

“Alright! If you’re able to, let me know, and I’ll be able to show you the ropes.” Crutchie slapped his back playfully. “Looks like I’m about to start playin’. You can sit with us if ya want,” he offered. Spot nodded, and sat in the grass beside the xylo-marimba or whatever it was to wait for practice to end. 

It was almost mesmerizing from this angle, watching their legs move in time to the clicking sound projected over the field. Mesmerizing and kind of creepy, like a swarm of robots or insects or something. 

When Mr. Weasel released the band for the day, they all packed up quickly and with practiced ease. Spot moved to help Crutchie with his whatever-it-was-called, and the curly haired boy gave him a grateful smile. 

The small group of not-xylophone players, which Crutchie explained was known as the pit, hooted like a bunch of deranged apes as they pushed their equipment across the parking lot. Crutchie showed Spot around the band room after they put their things away, pointing out things such as “the low brass, where all that is good and holy goes to die” and “the bucket that collects the goo that drips from the ceiling”.   
He felt very out of place, especially when David and Sarah walked over. 

“Hey, Sean. Ready to go?” He nodded.   
“Hey Dave, Sarah. Your new brother says he’s willin’ to try and be our new sound tech for this year.” Sarah looked at Spot in surprise.   
“Really?”

“I have to take a fucking elective, it’s not like it’s by choice.”

David looked annoyed. “Band is a big commitment. You shouldn’t join if you can’t give that time.” So David thought he couldn’t handle it. Spot glared at him.   
“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do, do I?” he snapped, heading for the door, not really caring if David or Sarah followed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this at 4 in the morning because my allergies were keeping me awake. Hope you like it!
> 
> The goo bucket is something my band room has because the school is falling apart!   
> We call it soy sauce because it is brown and smells funny. I have heard of kids who tried to drink it. I have no idea if they survived.


	9. Chapter 9 (David & Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is both of my sons perspectives because it wasn't long enough to be two chapters. 
> 
> Spot provides an inventory of all the cats, and Javid happens some more.

Jack managed to work his magical charm and convince Sarah to drive Sean home on her own so he and David could stop to get food. He argued that David always drove, so she should do it for once so her brother could go on a date and be less of a loser. ("Hey!" "Shush Davey, she's thinking about it now")  
Besides, she should be happy for the opportunity to bond with her other brothers without David there.  
David personally felt bad for his sister, alone in the car with Sean, and then Sean and Les, who luckily always seemed to have some kind of practice or club after school (There hadn’t been that many clubs when David was in elementary school, had there? Who came up with the idea of elementary cheerleading? They didn’t even have sports teams to cheer for).  
There was certainly a good chance that either someone would be murdered, or the entire car would end up in a ditch. David would miss Sarah when she inevitably died that day. She had been a good sister.

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

When David and Jack came home, Sarah was scrubbing the bathroom floor. That was never a good thing. Well, it was good that she was alive, at least, but his sister only stress cleaned when she was seriously angry. Either she'd broken up with her boyfriend/girlfriend (David was more than a little embarrassed to say he didn't really know who she was dating) or…  
"Sean Conlon is a little asshole and I am going to strangle him!"  
Sarah's dramatic declaration brought a smile to David's face, which he tried and failed to hide.  
"What did he do this time?"  
“Oh, hi Jack. Are you staying for dinner?” She didn’t wait for him to respond, continuing her rant. “Apparently nobody ever taught Sean that he shouldn’t tell a girl he just met that she makes him wish he was gay. Millie called me crying as soon as I got home! He just met her, and already he broke her heart! I’m not saying he has to like her, but he doesn’t have to be so mean about it.” 

She gestured dramatically with the sponge, flinging soapy water across the hall.  
"I cannot believe that he is going to be in marching band! That’s my happy place, and he's insufferable!"  
"As drum major, shouldn't you be more welcoming?" David teased, secretly kind of pleased that Sarah was on his side with this.  
“I will welcome him when he apologizes to Millie.”  
Nothing could turn Sarah into a raging dragon like someone hurting her friends.  
“Well, there’s always the chance he’ll quit.” Jack offered with a smirk.  
“Or I’ll drop a tuba on his head.”  
David laughed. “Sarah, that’s assault.”  
“I literally could not possibly care less right now.”  
Jack grinned. “But what if it dents the tuba?”  
Sarah considered it. “True. I’ll drop Jack’s ego on him. No way he’ll survive that.”  
“Hey! My ego is the perfect size to go with my wide array of skills.”  
David kissed him. “Of course it is, Jack. Come on, let’s leave Sarah to plan her murder in peace.”

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

David scratched the creamy colored fur under the old cat's collar. He'd never been a cat person, or really an animal person, but Scotch was different. The scraggly tomcat had turned up on their porch a few years back with a bad infestation of fleas and a burning hatred for anyone who was not David. The fleas were gone now, but Scotch would still attack just about anyone who tried to pet him.  
This included Jack, who declared David's beloved pet a "tiny demon" and "a menace to society". Luckily, the other cats adored Jack. 

At that moment, he had Gus draped over his shoulders as he tried to coax Jenny, the newest, chubbiest addition to the Denton/Jacobs cat collection, down from the top of a bookshelf. She was terrified of everyone except Sean, who really did not appreciate her affection. 

Linda hid pretty much constantly since Sean had arrived (smart cat, in David’s opinion), And Lenny was probably sleeping in some improbable location, like a bowl of salad, for example.  
The stupid orange tabby had once fallen asleep inside the washing machine, which could have been disastrous, if not for Bryan being so careful. It was only because he was in the habit of checking Les' pockets for worms and other non-machine washable treasures that the cat had even been noticed before the load started. 

"Jack, come sit with me," David said. "Isn't Gus enough cat for you?"  
"I want All the cats, Davey. Except mini satan. You can keep him." David grinned.  
"I plan to. Scotch is cuddling with me instead of harassing Jenny. Obviously he is my new boyfriend." He teased, laughing when Jack pretended to be upset.  
"I can't believe you would replace me with that." He said, shifting Gus from his neck to his arms as he sat next to David on the couch. 

David turned the TV on to some 80s TV show that Jack insisted was the greatest thing ever made, and leaned into his boyfriend's arms, stroking Scotch's soft fur absently with one hand. The scruffy cat somehow managed to both purr to David and glare at Jack simultaneously. Scotch truly was a marvelous creature.  
Jenny watched them wide-eyed from above, huddling next to a statue of an owl. She looked remarkably owlish herself, with her round yellow eyes and squat body. 

“I’m pretty sure that this Sam guy is just you but a bartender.” David said after a few episodes. “Flirty, arrogant, sexy…”  
“Then that makes you Diane”. Jack teased. “Nerdy, stiff, cute. What’s not to love?” David laughed softly, leaning into Jack’s arms.  
Both boys made sure to stay quiet, trying to avoid waking the other "tiny demon" who slept curled up, also fairly catlike, in an armchair against the wall. 

"Dave, ya gotta admit, he looks cute curled up asleep like that."  
Jack was right. Sean looked so young and vulnerable without his ever-present scowl. He looked… peaceful.  
The kid was curled up on the chair, his book pulled close to his chest like a small child with a favorite stuffed toy. Sean had been there for the past hour or two, having fallen asleep in the middle of whatever he was reading. Occasionally he would twitch or shift, but mostly he was still. 

He had basically claimed the plushy blue armchair as his own. It was where he did homework or read, usually curled up sideways in a tight little ball. Sometimes he just sat and stared out the window at the birdfeeders, usually bustling with a wide variety of native species. Bryan was incredibly proud of the diverse community that occupied his yard.  
“Well, as soon as he opens his mouth, he turns into Satan himself,” David said, not allowing himself to be fooled by Sean’s temporarily innocent appearance. 

“Aww, Davey. He can’t be all that bad,” Jack said, poking David in the ribs. He yelped and fell off the couch, sending both Scotch and Gus scrambling away. Jack laughed and slid down to the floor too, pulling David close and planting a kiss on his lips.  
David laughed and shifted to reach Jack’s face easier, then pulled his boyfriend into a longer kiss. 

“What the fuck? Get a room. Jeez,” apparently they’d forgotten to stay quiet. Jack and David looked up to see Sean stalking away, muttering something about “disgusting fucks” under his breath. Jenny slithered her way from the top of the shelf and followed him. 

"Okay, maybe he is that bad," Jack admitted.

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Spot sucked at the scratch on his hand.  
"You." He hissed. "Are an asshole." Scotch lashed his tail in response. The stupid cat made it very clear that he hated this new human in his space, yet insisted on sleeping on or under Spot's bed almost every day. 

That was what he'd been doing when Spot got home that day. When he tried to shoo the cat away, he'd received a sharp claw to the hand.  
Devil cat, it made sense that it loved David.  
But how exactly was he supposed to get the psychotic ball of hair off his bed without touching it?

Spot glared at the cat for a few moments, and then got an idea. He reached carefully for the sheet, snatching the edge and ignoring Scotch's low growl. He gave a swift jerk of the fabric, dumping the cat to the floor in a hissing pile of fur, claws, and raw fury.  
“Fuck off. Go find your jackass owner,” he snapped at the furious animal.

He sat on the bed, brushing fur off in irritation. A small mrrrp! came from below, and he swore, ducking to look directly into two round yellow eyes. 

Spot did not like cats, Jenny included. She was always underfoot, and usually silent, so he never knew she was there.  
At least she wasn't David's devil cat, Scotch. Jenny was annoying; Scotch was evil. Spot didn’t really care about the other cats either way.  
Gus was fine, they ignored each other, and Lenny was a crackhead but mostly just hung around with Les. Linda seemed to be either invisible or imaginary, as Spot had yet to see any sign of this cat that the entire family swore existed. It was also a stupid name for a cat, but since it was Les who had named her, that made some sense. 

Unfortunately, Jenny was not interested in letting her presence go unnoticed, at least not to Spot. The stupid cat was like his shadow, but infinitely more likely to trip him or get her tail stepped on. She wasn’t as free with her claws as Scotch, which Spot supposed he had to appreciate. She also really liked to cuddle with Spot, which she proceeded to do right then.

Denton had gotten the cat from a neighbor shortly before Spot came, and the man still practically steamed when he told the story. Apparently the neighbors had moved, and didn't want to deal with bringing Jenny along, so they handed her off to the first person who offered. 

Spot knew a little how that felt. Foster kids didn't move with families, no matter how "loved" or "part of the family" they were.  
He could see why Jenny was afraid of just about everything; she'd lost her home, her family, and nobody could explain why to her. He doubted he could even if he spoke cat.  
Life wasn't fair, and some things just didn't make sense. 

Spot sighed, and gently rubbed the spotted fur at the base of Jenny's ears. At least she was soft.  
It was just a good thing he didn’t have any allergies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> They're watching Cheers, which is a good show that I just started.


	10. Chapter 10 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot is at band  
> Yes, the show is newsies themed, what else would it be???

Marching band was definitely not something Spot enjoyed right then. For one thing, everyone talked almost constantly, especially Mush, who for some reason thought that since Spot was in the band, that made them friends. Spot disagreed.  
For another thing, the director, Weasel, was a jackass. He was always shouting about something, or sending one of his nephews to freak out for him if he couldn't be bothered to drag his lazy ass out of the press box and do it himself. 

At least it kept him out of the house and away from Denton and his weird niceness. Besides, Spot only had to deal with the band for a month, having joined so late. He realized that he didn't actually know what he was going to end up doing as the elective once the season ended. He didn't play an instrument like everyone else, and they probably didn't need him screwing around on a computer, making sound effects for the concert band. 

His stomach hurt again. He needed a cigarette, but that would have to wait until practice ended, which thankfully was only another half hour from now. 

He scrolled through his phone for a distraction, reading an Instagram group chat that Mush had made titled "Welcome!!!!!" 

Musheeeeee : made this so we can explain stuff to sean cuz hes new and band is weird

the_pirate changed group name to satanic cult for freaks

the_pirate : fixed irt

baselet420 changed group name to satanic cult for gays

Musheeeeee : nooooooo stop bullying meeeeeeeeeeeee :(

davidjacobs03 : put your phones away and pay attention

antonioramus : no heck u fav  
Dav

CMorrisisisisss : ok what do he need to know about band stuff? 

the_pirate : dong et on oscar or morris delanceys bad side  
Dony get  
Fuck  
Dont.  
Get.

Musheeeeee : lol oscar and morris is Weisels nephews, they dumb af. Basically useless, they just act like assholes and make people do stupid shit as punishments for even stupider shit

antonioramus : and flirt with sarah

Timpanigal04 : and get rejected by Sarah

TomTom : and then get mad and say shes a crummy drum major

Yeetleburritle : crummy drummy

MillieGByall : even tho she got lead podium sophomore year without any blood relationship to the director

CMorisisisisss : that’s actually all Morris.  
Hes a shit conductor and a jealous creep.  
Sos Oscar, but if he does anything, he gets arrested, so he doesn’t try anything

Musheeeeee : oh also we all have breakfast at my house b4 competitions and u have to come sean its required by law  
But davey and sarah go already so youd find that out i guess 

sarahjacobs-denton changed group name to full run through in 5 get off your phone morons

Musheeeeee : Saraaaaahhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!  
That my mom luv u mom

sarahjacobs-denton : love you too Mushy put your phone away and drink water

Spot grinned at the stream of messages. He had to admit, it was kind of nice that Mush had thought to do that. And it didn't hurt that it annoyed David and Sarah, at least a little.

He stretched a little and double checked the laptop that was his "instrument". Most of the sound equipment was pretty outdated, but it was in good condition, and whoever had been in charge of it before had obviously taken good care of everything. 

He was interrupted from his fiddling by a sharp voice from behind him.  
"You. New kid." Spot turned to see an accusing finger pointed in his face.  
It was Oscar Delancey, most useless staff member 2k20 of Brookside High School, flanked by his squirrelly younger brother. 

"What?" He did his best to sound as uninterested as possible. Blink (at least he thought the_pirate was the one eyed trumpet player) had said not to get on their bad sides, but Spot was very practiced at doing the opposite of what he was told. 

"Empty your pockets," the sleazy man ordered. Spot glared at him.  
"And why the fuck should I do that?"  
Oscar jerked a finger at Morris. "My brother's phone ain't in his backpack, and we know you musta took it. Didn't want to make a big deal about it and embarrass ya, since you're new and all. Give it here, now."  
Spot smirked. "What would I want with Morris' hentai and furry porn?"

Morris lunged at him at that, but Oscar stopped him with an outstretched arm.  
"You think you're funny, huh?"  
"I'm fucking hilarious. You're just a dumb fuck who doesn't get it." Oscar's face turned red and he lowered his voice to a growl. 

"You'd better watch it, punk. A little rat like you, you're already on your last strike with Mr. Weisel. Bet Johnathan wouldn't like hearin' you got kicked out of the band, would he?" He sneered. 

Spot bristled at the mention of his social worker. How had Oscar found that out? Was it common knowledge, or just because he was the director's nephew?  
He hated being known as "the foster kid". Sean "Spot" Conlon, pathetic little stray puppy who everyone pitied but none trusted. 

Obviously they didn't trust him, shit went missing and they immediately assumed he took it. Not like they could prove anything, since he hadn't even done it, but it still pissed him off. 

"Hey, Sean!"  
Fuck.  
David. What the hell did he want now?  
"Is this microphone set up right?"  
Well, any excuse to get away from Oscar. He picked his way around the complex root system of wires spread out all over the ground to where David stood, holding what was, in fact, not a microphone, but your typical power strip, with nothing whatsoever to suggest that it was a microphone. And David was supposed to be the smart guy. He spoke slowly and patronizingly, explaining, "David, this is a power strip, not a microphone."

Was he getting heat stroke? Spot hoped not. He didn't think his stomach could handle having Sarah drive if David was sick. He already had a stomach ache, and she drove way too fast. It was enough to make him want to puke under normal circumstances. 

“I know. You just looked like you could use an escape. Oscar’s a jerk. Whatever he said, ignore it.”  
Oh.  
So that was it. He was Sean Conlon, a kicked puppy who needed to be rescued. Wonderful.  
Well, not if he could help it.  
"I planned to," he said, with as much of a smirk as he could manage. 

He turned and walked back to his "instrument", which, thankfully, Oscar had lost interest in waiting by.  
The band settled into their starting positions, ready for the preshow. Spot clicked the button to start it and heard…. Frog calls? That wasn't right. He started clicking other icons, none of which were correct. Why did they have so many sound effects that they didn't even use? When had anyone ever wanted the shrieking sound of nails on a chalkboard?  
"Conlon! What's going on?" Weasel shouted. He ignored him, scrolling through the list of effects. 

There it was. Spot made a mental note to make that icon more obvious.  
Horse hooves on pavement, then voice over talking about Newsies, who apparently had been paperboys or something a hundred years ago. Spot relaxed, counting as Sarah’s hands moved all over when she conducted. It still didn’t make sense to him, so he mostly just listened to the music for his cues, making things louder or softer or adding new sounds as needed. 

It took about ten minutes to go through the entire show, and then they got to sit on the field for another five minutes while Weisel droned on about a fundraiser that Spot didn’t care about. His legs hurt and he wanted to go home, and it looked like everyone else did too, with the exception of maybe Mush, who always looked happy as a clam to be wherever he was. 

Finally, Weisel dismissed them, and Spot hopped up to push the pit equipment inside. He always helped Crutchie with his marimba, since the older boy had trouble moving it with his bad leg. 

There were two guys who helped out with equipment, a baritone player named Bumlets (baselet420) who carried an armful of microphones, and Racetrack (antonioramus), who pushed the two large speakers on his own, which was impressive given that he was about as tall as Spot, if a bit stockier. Between them and the rest of the pit, and Racetrack’s amazing ability to stack just about everything onto one cart, they managed to carry or drag all of the wires and the sound cart across the parking lot without dropping anything expensive.

While he insisted he hated band and everything about it, Spot had already gotten very protective of the sound equipment. He had quickly realized that this “Annie” who came before him had a very confusing way of organizing the already difficult to use laptop, but at least she kept everything in good condition. 

Her organization of the closet where they now shoved the equipment was noticeably better. Cords were wrapped neatly and stored in buckets, and everything was clearly labeled, unfortunately in a shorthand that Spot had yet to decipher. His predecessor had also apparently really liked stickers. The amount of smiling animals on everything was ridiculous, but Crutchie insisted he couldn’t peel them off. 

Spot went outside to wait for David and Sarah, who for some reason always seemed to find someone to talk to. His stomach hurt again, and he really just wanted to curl up in bed and wait for death. 

Dead people didn’t have to listen to Mush yammer about the fact that there were birds in the tree next to the door. He knew there were birds, Mush. Mush didn’t have to tell him. Yes, Mush, he was going home. He didn’t care that Mush thought Sarah was the coolest person ever. She was a bitch and her friends were annoying.  
Spot never thought he would be that happy to see David and Sarah in his life.


	11. Chapter 11 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short one. 
> 
> Spot gets fitted for his uniform and David wonders if things might be looking up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I finally figured out how to get my italics to copy over!!!  
> I love me some italics and bolded words!!!

David watched as Sean stood, completely unimpressed, facing Oscar. He almost looked bored, as if Oscar was just an irritating interruption from his important work. 

He was too far away to hear what Oscar said, but he saw Sean’s face change. No longer arrogant and composed, he seemed to almost shrink in on himself, and David was suddenly very angry. 

For once, it wasn’t directed at Sean. 

“Hey, Sean!” He called, waving the boy towards him. “Is this microphone set up right?” Sean sidestepped Oscar and came to look. 

“David, this is a power strip, not a microphone.” 

“I know. You just looked like you could use an escape. Oscar’s a jerk. Whatever he said, ignore it.”

“I planned to.” Sean was back to being a cocky asshole. This, David felt comfortable with. As Sean walked away, David was struck with the realization that he had just experienced a civil interaction with Sean Conlon. 

Wonders would never cease.

  
  


\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

"Why the fuck do I have to wear that?"

Sean stood scowling at Mama Higgins, who held a uniform hanger up to his little frame to get a size estimate. 

"Because, honey, everyone wears them for performances. Come on, I'll have to take it in a bit since you're so small."

"I am  _ not  _ small."

"Of course you're not, love." She said, distractedly writing down the uniform number. "Put it on, I need to pin you."

David smiled and continued pretending to do his homework. The rest of the band members had already been fitted for uniforms, but Sean had joined late, so he had to stay after practice to get it done. With only a few days before his first competition with the band, it was surprising that Weisel had let it wait so long, though the man wasn't exactly the best at his job. 

Really, the band was largely run by the assistant director, who had unfortunately been on sick leave for about a week, and the band was noticeably suffering for it. 

David and Sarah were left to wait as Sean grumbled, but did as he was told. 

The forest green uniform was probably the smallest one on the rack, but it still looked baggy and awkward on Sean's skinny body.

"Anthony, honey, do him up for me, I have to find my tape measure."

Racetrack reached to help Sean with his zipper but was slapped away. 

"I have it. Fuck off."

"Language, dear. Everyone needs help with the back zipper, don't worry."

Sean practically hissed at that, still insisting on twisting into a pretzel to do it himself.

Race held his hands up in mock surrender, but he grinned. 

David would have felt bad for whichever band mom was forced to deal with Sean, but luckily Mama Higgins was a capable woman who somehow managed to always keep a level head. If anyone could fit the tiny demon for a uniform, it would be Racetrack's mother. After all, she'd somehow managed to keep a kid like Race alive for 15 years, and was the only person who could be trusted to fit all of Sarah's hair into a neat bun. 

The woman was nothing short of a miracle worker. 

The look on Sean's face reminded David of the many times he and Sarah had forced one of the cats into doll clothes when they were younger. Hunched and scowling from the box he'd been forced to stand on, he looked like he was barely holding himself back from scratching Mama Higgins' eyes out with his fingernails. 

"Alright, sweetie, you can get down now."

Sean practically jumped off and wiggled out of the uniform. 

"Sarah, be a dear and show your brother how to hang his uniform?"

Sarah complied, showing the scowling boy how to put the black overalls and green and gold jacket on the hanger in a way that wouldn't leave weird creases or wrinkles. 

"I dont see why I have to wear the stupid thing," he griped, struggling with the hanger. "I don't go on the field at all and nobody can see me from behind the sound stuff."

"It's how we make a unified look for the band," Racetrack explained. 

"We want everybody to look as much the same as possible."

Sean muttered something about it being "a fucking cult of stupid" as he dropped the jacket on the floor again. Sarah stifled a laugh and patiently showed him how to hang it once more. 

Finally, Sean managed to get his uniform on the hanger, and they could head home. David realized as he backed out of the parking lot that they had actually had a very peaceful, almost friendly time for the past half hour. 

It was the second time in as many days. Maybe things were looking up. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Sean ruined David's positive perspective of their relationship just about immediately upon arriving at home. Bryan asked how their day was, and before David or Sarah could reply, Sean told him to fuck off and then stormed upstairs. 

Bryan sighed and smiled sadly. 

"At least now he's saying  _ something _ before going off in a huff."

Was that really progress though? David didn't think so, but Bryan was the one who'd taken all the parenting classes, so maybe swearing at your family  _ before  _ slamming the door and not after was a good thing. 

"He didn't like getting fitted for the uniform," David explained. Why he was trying to explain Sean's behavior, he had no idea. Maybe to make Bryan happy. 

"It's just lucky it was Mrs. Higgins doing it, or he might have gotten himself kicked out of the band," Sarah commented. Sean had yet to apologize for hurting Millie's feelings, though he had been civil to her. Sarah still had yet to forgive him completely, but she'd been more or less nice. 

David didn't really know if he had been nice to Sean or not. It seemed like any time he tried, it just pissed the younger boy off more. David already had trouble making sense of some people, but Sean was in a completely different league of confusing


	12. Chapter 12 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot's opinion on his first competition. I will not stand for Boots erasure, he is my boy and Iove him.
> 
> I've got the next chapter written but the one after that is causing me issues so we'll see how my every day uploading goes when writers block is in my way.

Spot didn't care about a "unified look". The look was stupid and he wanted no part in unifying it, but he didn't get a choice. ‘Everyone wears the uniform,’ they said. The uniform pitched, his scalp itched, and his hair was all stiff, caked with sticky sweet smelling aerosol that probably would cause everyone to develop serious lung problems down the road. Not that Spot could complain about lung problems. 

God, he needed a cigarette right now. Unfortunately, having a moment alone to smoke was another thing that "everyone" had decided he wasn't allowed to do 

“Well, everyone can FUCK off,” Spot muttered under his breath, struggling with the zipper on the back of his jacket. 

"Need a hand?" 

Anthony "Racetrack" Higgins, saxophone player and something of a bookie, grinned at him from under the bill of his stupid hat. 

Spot was just glad he didn't have to deal with the hats. 

The zipper got stuck once again, and he growled. 

"Fine. Zip it." 

"You're supposed to say 'do me,'" Racetrack smirked, fiddling with the zipper to unstick it. 

"I am not saying that, to you or any of the rest of you fuckwads."

The older boy laughed and fastened the buttons on the uniform. "There. Done."

Spot shook himself to get rid of the tingling feeling that always came when somebody touched him. 

His stomach hurt again. It had been hurting more often lately, probably because Denton kept insisting he eat three meals a day. 

So the nurse said he was "severely underweight." She got a job as a school nurse, so fuck her and her opinions. 

After about an eternity of standing around, they lugged their instruments and equipment to warm up, where Spot got to spend more time standing around. He double and triple checked all the sound equipment, made sure the clunky laptop was ready to run, and waited. 

Finally, they were told to move the equipment and get ready to go on the field. Spot helped Crutchie, surprised at how difficult it was to move everything on the squishy turf field. Their school had turf, but it wasn't nearly as thick as this school's. This felt like walking on a pile of blankets, and the wheels of the cart kept getting stuck. 

Finally they were in position. Spot did his best to ignore the crowded bleachers. People actually came to these things? That was a surprise. He had never had a problem with stage fright, but he found himself worried that he would mess up, hit the wrong button or come in at the wrong time. 

Well, not like worrying would fix it. 

Mr. Weisel nodded to him, and he started the preshow. It was the right audio, thankfully. 

The band played and marched, and Spot listened for his cues, scurrying to change volumes and effects. Before he knew it, they were finished.

He helped Crutchie off the field and they loaded everything into the truck, surrounded by chatter and post-show energy. Everyone dripped with sweat, even the pit kids, who didn't march. 

Spot then realized that his stomach wasn't hurting right then, which was always a good thing. He didn't have any idea where he was supposed to go now, though. And he really wanted to get out of this stupid uniform.

"Hey Sean!" Racetrack was waving him over to his group of friends. Unfortunately, David was a part of it, but Spot went anyway. 

"Here, lemme help you get that off, he gestured for Spot to turn to give him access to the zipper. 

"Very forward, Higgins" Spot said drily, but he let Racetrack help him out of the stiff jacket. 

"We only just met and already you're taking my clothes off." Race smirked, and handed him the jacket. 

"Hey, I got a reputation to keep up here. Everybody thinks I'm a real heartbreaker, right, Blinky?" 

The one eyed boy scoffed. 

"Race, the only heart you break is the heart of your mother when she sees how ya turned out ta be such a mess."

"Leave my mother out of this! She could take you in a fight!"

Spot laughed softly, trying to ignore the fact that David was standing there awkwardly. Unfortunately, he couldn't very well ignore him if he talked to him. 

"What did you think of your first competition, Sean?" David's voice was stiff and entirely too planned, and his smile looked painted on, but Spot had to give him credit for trying. 

"It was fine. Why's the field so fucking squishy?" 

David smiled, almost genuinely this time, though he still looked stiff and uncomfortable. 

"Its cause it's new, just got replaced like last year." 

"Cool," Spot replied awkwardly, not knowing what else to say. Luckily, Mush showed up, face slick with sweat and grinning like an idiot. He immediately started to chatter, and Spot tuned him out, focusing instead on putting his pants correctly on the hanger. 

"Hey, Spotty!" 

He turned in surprise. Nobody here knew his nickname.

A familiar face made it's way through the crowded parking lot. 

Boots. 

His former foster brother had filled out, gotten more muscular, but there was no mistaking that face. 

Spot flung his uniform haphazardly onto the rack and darted around a group of squealing flute players, ignoring David and the others' confusion behind him. 

"Boots! How's it going?" He grabbed him in an embrace. It had been so long since they had seen each other in person, or talked on the phone, for that matter. 

"Long time no see, Spot. I got adopted, nice family, still can't believe they wanted a kid like me." He grinned. Spot laughed at that. 

Boots had never been a problem kid, and with his brains and sweet smile, it was amazing he hadn't been adopted when he was much younger. 

He changed the subject to avoid mentioning that he was still being pawned around like old luggage. 

“So you're a band kid now?”

“Nah, my girlfriend is. She’s in color guard”

Spot raised an eyebrow. 

"Boots, you got a girl and didn't tell me about it?"

Boots countered, "You joined a cult and didn't tell  _ me  _ about it." 

Spot laughed again. He had really missed Boots. 

"What about you, any girls catch the eye of the infamous Spot Conlon?"

"Boots, you know I dont like girls"

Boots nodded seriously. "That's right. You're still pining away for me because I'm straight." Spot punched him playfully. 

"You're not my type"

"What type would that be?" Boots looked at him, the picture of innocence. 

"The type who aren't a foot taller than me"

"So you only date third graders? Ow!"

They both laughed, and Spot felt more at home than he had in a long time. 

"So, where've you been staying, Spotty? Found anybody who wanted the local delinquent yet?"

Spot smirked, hiding the painful twinge in the pit of his stomach. Boots had a family now; he didn't. It wasn't a big deal. It wasn't. 

"Nah. I give this new family another month tops before I drive them insane. They're real  _ nice, normal  _ people, got like a million cats though."

"Hey, maybe they wanna start hoarding kids too. Ya never know."

"Entirely possible. But they've already got a stupid prick in their collection. Don't think they want a smartass basketcase too."

Boots tittered."Spotty, are you playing nice with the other kids?"

"Absolutely the fuck not. When have I ever been nice?"

"Don't make me go all Mrs. Hilger on you," he warned teasingly, using the name of the owner of the group home they'd met at. 

"Boots, I swear to God if you flick me in the nose I  _ will  _ bite your fingers off". 

"Sean. Who's this?" Fucking  _ David  _ again. Could the guy not leave him alone for two minutes?

Boots answered for him. 

"I'm Boots. His brother. And you are?"

David looked at Boots critically. He was pretty obviously not blood related to Spot. Spot was a skinny white boy with a scowling, if girlish, face and straight hair. 

Boots was a sturdy, dark skinned boy with dark curls. And he smiled on occasion, but nobody was perfect.

"David. Sean's foster brother." He turned to Spot. "We have to be at the bus in 20 minutes to hear scores announced. You should probably eat if you're hungry." Then he turned and walked away. 

Spot really wanted to hurt him again. 

"Hey Spotty. Wanna come meet my girlfriend before you have to go?"

Spot forced himself to calm down and not murder David. But only for Boots.

"Sure, Boots. Introduce me to the girl that's managed to keep your attention."

Boots smiled and led him off towards his school's bus. 

  
  



	13. Chapter 13 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some more obvious Autistic Davey in this chapter, Weasel is a bad person as always
> 
> This could be considered Sprace if you want to believe that, or just them starting to be bros. 
> 
> TW for mentions of abuse  
> Fun fact : this conversation with Weasel is almost a direct quote to one my director had with me, because he didn't care that I'm autistic and I was suffering, just that it made him uncomfortable!  
> I will not "get it together," I am going to fidget and anyone who tells me not to can fight me!  
> A horrible little man! He deserves no love!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My senior prom as well as possibly graduation got canceled, so my friends and I are building them in minecraft. 
> 
> Gamers unite! Separately. On Discord.

Seeing Boots again was strange, and brought back memories Spot didn’t like thinking about, memories of large hands shaking him like a doll and hitting him until he couldn't get back up. There, he was the "bad kid," the troublemaker. He deserved what he got, and everyone was glad to give it to him. 

But there were also good memories, and he told himself to focus on those. Focus on sharing snacks in the shade, playing with marbles or matchbox cars in the dirt, having someone there when he couldn’t sleep. Having a real friend, not just friendly people who felt bad for him.

Spot climbed onto the crowded bus, not really interested in hearing about scores, but ready to leave. His stomach cramped badly, and he really wanted to wash off the hairspray. 

He flopped down in his seat, which he shared with Crutchie, who thankfully knew how to be quiet occasionally. 

Mush was a few seats ahead of him, chattering with Sarah and some color guard girls. 

Sarah thrived in the boisterous, noisy bus, talking and joking with everyone who came by. David, on the other hand, had a glazed look in his eyes, one that Spot wasn’t familiar with. 

He slid past a few chattering groups, almost happy to be small, and sat next to David, who was fiddling with a rubix cube, humming softly to himself. He prodded at the older boy, making him jump about a foot into the air.

“What’s with you? You look like you just got fucking stabbed.”

“Oh. I-uh.. I’m fine. It’s just really loud in here.” 

“Well, duh. That’s what happens when you fill, like, 60 high schoolers with sugar and caffeine and then shove them all on a fucking bus together.”

David just nodded, and turned back to his cube. He solved it quickly, then mixed it up, and solved it again. The fact that he didn’t even try for a comeback was weird. Spot didn't like it. 

He opened his mouth to ask David if he was  _ sure _ it was okay, but got interrupted by Mr. Weisel clapping one meaty hand on his shoulder, and one on David's. David jerked again, and now he looked completely distraught, not just slightly out of it. 

"Boys. One of the chaperones has brought to my attention the fact that David has been… struggling. With the bus rides," Spot resisted the urge to bite the arm that was touching him. He was fairly certain that he could convince anyone who got mad about it that he'd been afraid for his life, not just pissed that this motherfucker was touching him with his stupid bear paws. 

He shook himself from his thoughts again, as Weisel was still lecturing. "... the point is, David, it's affecting the band as a whole, and we can't have that. You need to get it together, alright?" 

The director smiled nauseatingly at David, who gave a tiny nod. "Ok, Mr. Weisel. Sorry to be so much trouble." 

“It’s alright, David, just don’t let it happen again.” He slapped him on the back, and David winced, ducking his head slightly. 

The man waddled away to announce the scores for the night. 

“You sure you’re okay David?” Spot didn’t really know how he could help anyway, but he felt like he should ask.

David laughed weakly. “I’ll be fine. It’s just a little… much, you know?”

“Yeah,” Spot did know how he felt, sort of. It didn’t happen to him on bus rides, but moving families sometimes made him want to just... go away. Sink into his head and never come out. Never face the world again. He’d been told it was normal, that people sometimes reacted to drastic change like that. 

It didn’t make much sense that being in a crowd would do that to David, but Spot wasn’t going to judge him for that.  There were plenty of other, better reasons to judge David. 

Spot moved back to his seat, switching to give Crutchie the aisle to stretch his leg, and tried not to think too much. If he got all sympathetic towards David, he might start to  _ care  _ about him, and that would never end well. Having one brother to care about, Boots, was hard enough. No reason to add more, especially not a stuck up prick like David. 

No, it was better to focus on things he hated. Like David’s stupid fucking cat and Weisel’s stupid fucking voice and this stupid fucking bus that smelled like hairspray and sweat and gatorade. 

Great. Thinking about that had made his stomach hurt even worse. 

Fuck. He was going to vomit. 

“Crutchie. I needta get off.” He grabbed the other boy’s arm. 

“Can it wait? Mr. Weisel doesn’t like to be interrupted.”

“Crutchie I’m gonna puke. Move or it’ll be on you.” 

That got the boy moving quickly. Spot shoved past Mr. Weisel, who demanded to know where he was going. He ignored him, and luckily the door to the bus was still open. 

Spot made it outside just in time, managing to empty the contents of his stomach in the parking lot rather than the aisle of the bus. It was mostly just water and bile, which was  _ really fun  _ to hack up. And by really fun, he meant it hurt like fucking hell. 

Someone was rubbing his back awkwardly. Racetrack?

“Why the fuck are you out here?”

The boy grinned. “Anything to avoid one of Weasel’s speeches. Anything I can do to help?”

“Not unless you have access to a cigarette and a lighter.”

Racetrack looked around, and then pulled out just that. “Dude. One, where did you get that, and two, how do you get away with just carrying that around?”

“Do NOT tell my mom.” Racetrack ordered, handing one over. 

He lit one himself, and handed Spot the lighter. “So, you get carsick?”

“Something like that.” 

Spot didn’t feel like explaining that he pretty much always felt like that, just he was used to it most of the time. 

“Thanks, man. That actually does help,” Spot said. 

The (Slightly) taller boy stretched and put out his cigarette. “No problem. We should probably get back on the bus, before my mom realizes I’m being an idiot again or they just forget and leave without us.”

Spot nodded and followed him back on the bus. He was surprised. Racetrack actually seemed kind of cool. He wouldn’t have expected that from one of David’s friends. He reminded Spot a lot of Skittery. 

Spot didn’t want to think about Skittery. Thinking about Skittery meant thinking about that group home, and about being a weak, tiny little shrimp of a kid who needed someone to protect him. Spot did not like to think about those things. 

So he wouldn’t. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

When Spot woke up, they were back at the school, and Crutchie was asleep on his shoulder. He elbowed the other boy awake irritably. Crutchie almost fell off the seat, and Spot almost felt bad, but it was almost 1:30 in the morning and he wanted to either go back to sleep or die. He wasn’t particular about which. 

Spot did not like being woken up; falling asleep was hard enough as it was. 

Denton was there with the car to pick them up. He said he didn’t want David driving them all home exhausted, a sentiment that David seemed to agree with, considering he got in the car and immediately fell asleep again. 

Sarah was the most awake, awake enough to ask where Les was. Spot was pretty sure Denton said he was at a friend’s house sleeping over, but he wasn’t sure, and he didn’t really care. Though if Les wasn’t at the house, then there would be nobody to chatter his ear off at the ass-crack of dawn for once. That would be nice. 

He was half aware of someone shaking him awake, but after that, he didn’t really know what happened. He somehow ended up in bed, and he didn’t have hairspray caked everywhere so he must have gotten in the shower. How had he showered without remembering it?

Whatever. It didn’t really matter how it happened. He was in bed, so he’d go to sleep. 


	14. Chapter 14 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for a homophobic slur and some referenced past ableism. 
> 
> Javid, and I'm caving and including some Sprace because I am weak and I want Spotty to find all kinds of love, not just family love , because my son deserves all the love.

Things had been going so well. 

David had almost started to  _ like  _ Sean. The kid could be funny sometimes, in a sarcastic, very rough way, and he’d been surprisingly cool about David stressing out on the bus. 

David didn’t like loud, chaotic places, which meant that joining band was probably not the smartest decision he ever made, considering the whole point of the activity was to make a lot of noise. 

At least in marching band the majority of the time was spent outside, so the noise was less suffocating, less like he was being crushed. Unfortunately, the buses were unavoidable, and very very loud. 

David knew it made people uncomfortable when he had one of his “autistic moments,” as the therapist that Bryan immediately stopped bringing him to called them. If he “wasn’t all there” it made sense to pretend he wasn’t there at all. People just didn’t know what to do about it. 

Of course, sometimes people found the game of “Make David Freak Out” to be incredibly funny. Jack played a big part in stopping that, since he was completely willing to go rabid dog on anyone who made fun of his boyfriend. 

But even though Sean made it pretty clear he wasn’t intimidated by Jack, he hadn’t mocked David for sort of spacing out. He’d actually tried to make sure he was okay, and also looked like he was going to set Mr. Weisel on fire for giving him grief about it. David really appreciated that; he wasn’t used to people defending him, especially not to people like Weisel. 

Hopefully Sean didn’t actually set the band director on fire, though. It definitely seemed like something he might do. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Competition days always exhausted David, both physically and mentally. Bryan always insisted on picking them up from the school after he’d had to come help them get the car out of a ditch.  David wasn’t about to argue; that experience had been terrifying. 

He always slept a little late the day after a competition, but usually only an hour or two. David didn’t like wasting the day away in bed, especially when he could be spending it with people, for example, Jack, who arrived at the house before either Sarah or Sean were awake. Bryan had already picked Les up from Louie’s house, where he had spent the night, so he immediately latched onto Jack and refused to give them a moment of peace. David’s brother absolutely worshipped Jack, which could be a bit annoying if they wanted to be alone. 

David gave up all hope of being left in peace when both Sarah and Sean joined them in the living room, Sean curling up in his favorite chair by the window and Sarah pretending to squish Les into the couch. David sighed. He’d have to just make the best of it.

“Sean, what did you think of the first competition?” Jack asked, still sounding awkward. Sean didn’t really like him, and he knew it. 

“It was fine. Mush would. N ot. Shut. Up. The entire bus ride, chattering. I swear, I nearly killed him, like, thirty times.”

David laughed, enjoying how normal the conversation felt. 

“Hey, it means Mushy likes you. A whole bus full of people, and he chose to talk to  _ you.  _ Aren’t you lucky?”

"I'd rather get the plague than go through that again. Mush is annoying as hell. Racetrack is pretty cool though," his voice was casual, but David bit back a laugh at how red the boy's face was. 

Maybe being with Jack made him more adventurous, or maybe it just made him stupid. Whatever the reason, David started to tease Sean about Racetrack. 

“Do you  _ like  _ him, Sean?” He immediately regretted saying anything. 

“No, Fuck off! I’m not a goddamn faggot like you,” Sean snarled, jumping to his feet. David recoiled in surprise and hurt. He hadn’t expected  _ that,  _ even from Sean. 

“Sean!” Sarah said, gesturing at Les. He was too young to hear that kind of stuff, but clearly, Sean didn’t care. 

“Fuck you,” he glared at David’s sister, who now looked hurt. David could have strangled Sean right there. Obviously, Jack felt the same way, but he was more inclined to express those feelings. 

  
“What the hell, man?” Jack snapped, glaring daggers at the other boy. Jack understandably did not react well to slurs, especially when they were directed at his boyfriend. 

“Jack, calm down,” David said softly. It wasn't worth arguing about. After over a year of dating, he could tell easily when Jack was really mad. David didn’t want this to end in a shouting match, especially in front of Les. Sean never kept his language child friendly, even in a good mood, and when Jack lost his temper, he could definitely give Sean a run for his money in obscenities. 

Jack ignored him, stepping aggressively towards Sean. 

“Do you have any  _ idea  _ how hard it is for them? They let you, a total fuckup stranger, live in their home, and you just have to be a total dick about it.” Jack growled. “You could  _ at least  _ have the decency to be grateful.” 

"I didn't fucking ask to be put here, so don't act like this is my problem. I'm not the one who decided to bring some delinquent kid in off the streets and try to teach him to play nice." Sean turned and started to storm out, but he stopped short when Jack spoke. 

“Fucking reject,” Jack muttered. 

“Jack!” David cried. That was taking it too far. 

Apparently Sean agreed, because suddenly he was on top of Jack, hitting the older boy with much more force than his scrawny figure would have suggested he was capable of. 

Les screamed in panic, clutching at Sarah. David tried to pull Sean away from Jack, but he was shoved away. The skinny boy was much stronger than he looked. 

“Bryan!” David screamed desperately. “Help!”

Jack wasn’t even fighting back now, just covering his face with his arms and curling around his stomach.

“Sean! Stop, you’ll kill him!” 

Sean didn’t even slow down. 

Bryan ran into the room, looking more worried than David had seen him in a long time. “What’s going on? Jack! Sean, stop! Get off of him!” He grabbed Sean around the waist and pulled him off Jack. Sean turned and started swinging at Bryan then, but he was ready and grabbed the boy’s forearms before he could get more than a few punches in. 

David ran to his boyfriend, having no idea what to do or how to help. Blood ran down Jack’s face, dripping mostly from his nose and a cut just above his eyebrow. He was definitely going to end up with some serious bruising, but to David’s relief, nothing looked too serious. He did look very dazed, though. That was a concern. 

“Jacky? Can you hear me?”

“I got my ass kicked by a fuckin’ hobbit.” David could have collapsed with relief. If Jack was still being sarcastic, he would be okay. 

David glanced at said hobbit, who was breathing heavily and twitching a little, but he had stopped attacking, mainly because Bryan still held his arms tightly. He was starting to look a little less rabid and a little more freaked. He stopped struggling, and Bryan let go of his arms. David tensed, waiting for Sean to start hitting his father again, but he didn’t. 

Bryan told him to wait in his room, and for once, the kid actually obeyed an order, scrambling up the stairs like he was being chased. 

Les immediately bounced from Sarah to Bryan, burying his face in the man’s side.

Bryan wrapped an arm around his youngest and turned to Jack, who struggled to his feet, insisting he was fine. He was obviously  _ not  _ “fine”, David thought, but Bryan just nodded. “Would someone like to explain to me  _ what exactly _ happened just now?” He almost looked angry, but mostly just exasperated, and of course very concerned. 

“David made a joke about Sean having a crush, and he called David a… not nice word, and Jack got mad, and he called Sean some things, and then Sean was punching Jack in the face.” David appreciated his sister not repeating what Sean called him in front of Les. Hearing it once was too many times for a nine year old. 

Bryan sighed, looking like he’d just aged twenty years in the span of two minutes. 

“Dad?” Les had stopped hiding, face filled with worry. 

“Is Sean going to keep living with us?”

Bryan’s voice was strained and he looked so incredibly tired. “I don’t know, buddy. I’m going to go talk with him. You stay with Sarah and David, okay?” the little boy nodded, and latched onto David this time. He hugged his brother in return, and Sarah joined in, wrapping an arm around David’s shoulders supportively. 

  
They didn’t know what Bryan would decide, or if it would be his decision at all. Johnathan might decide this wasn’t working, and take Sean away. David was surprised to realize that he didn't want that to happen anymore. For now, he’d take care of his boyfriend and hold his siblings tight. They at least weren’t going anywhere. 


	15. Chapter 15 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of abuse. 
> 
> There are 162 ceiling panels in the restaurant I work at.
> 
> In other news, business is slow and I'm losing my mind.
> 
> Someone give this boy a hug.  
> End of summary.

He hadn’t meant to hit Jack. But then he’d called him a reject. Spot knew he was a reject. People didn’t want the troubled kid, the messed up kid, the psycho kid. The kid who picked fights and smoked and had “behavioral problems”. 

The one thing Spot had going for him was the fact that he was a skinny little twig of a kid who people felt bad for. That wasn’t enough for anyone to want him around for long. 

People wanted good kids, young kids, easy kids, kids who didn’t come with a list of issues longer than they were tall, even if they weren’t very tall. 

Seeing Boots again was just a painful reminder of that. People wanted kids like Boots, not him. He’d keep getting shoved around until he aged out, and then he’d be on his own. 

Thinking about it pissed him off, and Spot proved once again that he was a problem kid, not worth the trouble. 

He saw nothing through the anger. Just felt his fist connecting with Jack, who got in a few swings but mostly just tried to avoid Spot’s aggressive hands. 

Someone was screaming, he heard Denton’s name in a high shriek, Jack’s name, his name. He kept going, kept hitting. 

And then someone was pulling him off of Jack, and he turned to the new adversary. He swung again and again, feeling the satisfying thud of his fist hitting flesh until strong hands gripped his arms tight, stopping his attacks. 

Spot breathed heavily as the white-hot anger faded and his vision cleared. 

David knelt on the floor beside Jack. Jack’s face was streaked with blood, already starting to bruise in places. Spot looked away. 

Les stared wide eyed, clutching Sarah tightly. 

Who was holding his arms now? Denton. He’d been hitting Denton.

Shit. No. No. He was fucked now. Denton had been patient with him, but surely this would be it. He was so dead. 

Denton released his arms when he stopped struggling. 

"Go to your room. I'll be up in a minute to talk." He turned his attention to Jack, who still looked a bit dazed. 

Spot forced himself to move, running up the stairs and away from everyone. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Spot paced the small room like a caged tiger. The door wasn't actually locked, yet he was sure he couldn't leave.

Trapped. 

You didn't go after one of the parents, no matter what. You just  _ didn't.  _ That was one of Spot’s personal rules, and it mostly kept him from getting  _ too _ beat up. Denton wasn't the biggest guy he'd lived with, but he was still probably twice Spot's size. 

He bit at his knuckle, trying to calm himself down, to remind himself that panicking was never helpful, but he couldn't. 

The room was too small. He couldn't run. He had to be able to run; the only person in the whole fucking house that wasn't twice his size was Les. Being fast was his only advantage. 

That, and a willingness to fight dirty.

Spot growled in frustration. He bit his knuckle again, and this time tasted blood. 

His stomach hurt again. If all else failed, he'd climb out the window. He hadn’t yet seen Denton really mad, and he didn’t want to. 

His hands shook when he heard footsteps on the stairs. He wondered what Denton would use to hit him. The man didn't usually wear a belt, but he must have one somewhere. 

Or he had his hands. There was that one family who'd hit him with a spoon, which he knew they had in the house.

Fucking shit. 

Whatever happened, Spot told himself, he'd be okay. He was always okay. Maybe a little worse for wear, but Denton wouldn't be stupid enough to do any actual damage. He could take a beating; he'd done it before. 

But God, that didn't mean he wanted to do it now. 

The door opened and Spot struggled to get air in his lungs. Denton had the beginnings of a black eye, which Spot knew he had caused, but his hands were empty. 

So he would just use his fists. That was better than a belt. 

Spot tried to calm himself down, but he couldn't. He was scared. Scared of being trapped, scared of being hurt, scared of Denton. 

He had to get out. Get away. He rammed his shoulder into the wall, hard, accomplishing nothing whatsoever. 

"Sean, calm down and talk to me". Denton's voice was gentle and filled with concern, but Spot was too far gone to be calmed down by that. He just saw a hand reach towards him, and knew he had to get away from it. 

"No! Get the fuck away from me!" He didn't even care how panicked he sounded. 

He ducked toward the window, but Denton was surprisingly fast. He wrapped Spot in a bear hug, lifting the struggling boy off the ground to get him away from the window and the dangerous drop from the roof outside. He sat on the bed, holding Spot half in his lap. 

Spot tried to squirm away, but Denton was much stronger than he was. 

He let out a thin whine, and immediately hated himself for it.

"Sean, it's okay. You're safe". 

_ Doesnt fucking feel like it.  _

Spot remained silent, willing his hands to stop shaking. 

_ Why  _ was he like this now? He'd made it his whole damn life faking composure, why was it suddenly so obvious when he was freaked? 

This Denton guy had really gotten to him. Why wouldn't he just get  _ on  _ with it? Just fucking hit him already? This waiting thing was worse, and Spot couldn't stand it. 

It pissed him off, being so scared. 

"Get. Offa. Me." He snarled, twisting, sinking his teeth into Denton's arm. 

The man shouted in surprise and pain and let go. Spot twisted out of his arms and pressed himself against the wall. 

_ Fuck. I fucked up. Now he's really mad. _

But Denton didn't do anything. Didn't come after him, didn't even yell, just wiped the blood off of his arm with his shirtsleeve.

Somehow, the calm was almost worse. He didn't know what would happen. Anger he could handle, not this. 

Spot pressed himself into the corner, closed his eyes, and waited for a blow that never came. 

He heard the bed shift when Denton sat.

"Sean." 

He forced his eyes open. 

"Come here, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

Denton's arms were open in an invitation that Spot didn't know how to accept. But he wanted to. 

He wanted to trust that Denton wouldn't do anything. That it would be okay. The man hadn't moved towards him. That had to be a good sign, right? 

Denton hadn't hurt him yet. He hadn't swung back when Spot was actively punching him, so maybe he wouldn't hit him now. 

Spot took in a shuddering breath and shifted. He wanted it to be okay. 


	16. Chapter 16 (Denton)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter but from Denton's perspective because I felt like it. 
> 
> I was watching newsies because I cant leave the house, and it suddenly hit me really hard that Spot Conlon is a SMALL CHILD. He is a BABY. WHY IS HE ALL ALONE IN THIS CRUEL WORLD???????? 
> 
> I have declared it unacceptable.  
> So here is a chapter where, SPOILER ALERT : Spot gets a hug! Finally!!!
> 
> Emotions and angst because I have no self control!  
> Exclamation!Points!!!!!!

Bryan sighed. The poor kid. He looked so trapped, like a wild animal stuck in a cage. 

And just like with a wild animal, he had no way of telling Sean that he wasn't going to hurt him. No way to make him understand that he was safe. 

Obviously he didn’t feel safe; he’d tried to climb out the window. Bryan didn’t like having to restrain him. It clearly just scared him more. 

It wasn’t the first time Bryan had been bitten by one of the kids, and he honestly wouldn’t be surprised if it wasn’t the last.

He had a scar on his leg from when David, Sarah, and Les had first come to live with him. Plenty of potential families would have been completely ready to open their hearts to the newborn Les, but not so many were able or willing to take David and Sarah as well. It was apparently hard to find a family that was equipped to deal with three kids, one of which was a newborn. There were families who wanted newborns, and families who wanted sibling groups, but none who wanted both. The only option seemed to be separating the broken little family. 

That was where Bryan had come in. The kids had lost so much already; he couldn’t let them lose each other too. He had plenty of space in the house, and at the time he worked from home, meaning there was plenty of time for a baby and two understandably traumatized six year olds. He had also been fostering newborns for about a year and a half, so he knew plenty about formula, diapers, and going without sleep.

David and Sarah had been absolutely convinced that Bryan was trying to “steal away the baby”. They made it very very clear that their foster father was not to pick Les up under any circumstances, or in general touch him, or look at him too long. It was understandable considering what they had been through, and Bryan tried to indulge the children, at least until they trusted him more. The only problem was the fact that a pair of first graders couldn’t exactly take care of a newborn, no matter how good their intentions were. 

Bryan had picked Les up to feed him, and David was having none of that. For such a young kid, he had an impressively strong bite. One hospital visit, nine stitches, and several weeks of work later, and David and Sarah finally began to trust that Les wasn’t going anywhere. 

Unfortunately, they hadn’t yet reached that point with Sean yet, and even a scrawny teen like this one could apparently still pack quite the punch. Bryan had to admit, Sean had done an impressive amount of damage to Jack, considering he was about half the size of David's boyfriend. The smaller boy had a bloody nose, and the beginnings of a good sized bruise on his cheek, but Jack had certainly come out worse. He might end up needing stitches. 

Upsetting Sean was clearly not a wise idea. 

Acting as Sean’s parent reminded Bryan somewhat of the experience he'd had rehabilitating a songbird. The little warbler had been left half dead on the porch by one of the cats, and Bryan felt a responsibility to fix the poor guy up. The bird hadn’t appreciated his efforts, especially since they involved being placed in a cage on a high shelf in the house. As he got healthier and was able to move more, the bird would try to escape, often hurting himself in the process. He slammed his fragile little body against the walls of the birdcage, stopping when he tired to huddle in a miserable ball of feathers on the floor of the cage. 

He was scared, panicked, and it led to accidentally hurting himself. This boy was the same way, lashing out at anyone who came near, even the hand bearing food. 

Of course, the end goal with the bird had been to release it with as little human contact as possible. With Sean, Bryan wanted nothing more than to be able to hold him close, tell him it was all okay. He took some comfort in reminding himself that the bird had eventually healed enough to be released, and with enough time, he was confident that Sean could heal too. 

Right now, the boy was in “miserable ball of feathers” mode, curled up in the corner of the bed, eyes screwed shut and blood dripping from his nose. Bryan sat down slowly on the farther side of the bed and crossed his legs more comfortably. 

“Sean.” 

He made sure to keep his voice gentle and nonthreatening. “Come here, it’s okay. I’m not going to hurt you.”

He held out his arms, showing they were empty. Sean looked at him, all traces of the defiance from earlier gone. He looked very young, and very very vulnerable. He seemed unable to decide what to do, so Bryan waited. He wouldn’t make the mistake of forcing the terrified boy to come near. 

And then suddenly, Sean was pressed against him, not the wall, his entire body shaking as he gave in to the tears. Bryan pulled him close, and the boy curled up in his lap, bringing back memories of cradling a different child, a smaller child, one who had woken up certain that there was a monster under the bed or in the closet.

Bryan knew that there were things he didn’t know about Sean, things the boy had experienced that he could never hope to understand. He had his own monsters to face, and all Bryan could do was be there for him. In truth, he really didn’t know what all had led up to this sudden show of emotions. Sean usually hid behind a wall of aggression and silence, and he supposed it had to come down at some point. Apparently a fistfight with Jack was what it took for that to happen. 

He rocked the boy gently from side to side, humming a melody that had always worked to soothe the others when they were small. Bryan stroked Sean’s eyelids as gently as he could, like he’d done to help Les fall asleep as a baby. The boy’s thin shoulders trembled and he shuddered out a sob. 

“Hey. Hey. It’s okay. Just let it out, kiddo. You’re alright.” 

He brushed the tears off the boy's cheek with his thumb and pulled him close. Sean didn't protest, simply leaning into the hug. 

He wasn’t okay, not by a long shot, but he would be. This was a start. 


	17. Chapter 17 (David and Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TW for mentions of homophobia and past abuse
> 
> Hope you like the chapter, and thanks to everyone who commented recently!

David wasn’t very good at tiptoeing around awkward situations. He’d been told many times that he was too blunt, too open, but as far as he was concerned, it was better that way. It was really irritating when someone hid how they felt; he had enough trouble figuring people out without them actively making it more difficult.

That was why when Sean and Bryan pretended like nothing had happened, it drove the oldest Jacobs boy absolutely nuts. He had  _ seen  _ them come downstairs the day before; Sean had been hovering behind Bryan like he’d get lost in the fairly small house if he was left on his own. His eyes were red and in general he looked like he was about to shatter into a million pieces, so why were they pretending everything was just all okay today? 

Sean had been noticeably quieter, not that he was normally particularly talkative anyway, and aside from asking for Jack’s phone number so he could “apologize for breaking his face”, he hadn’t mentioned the events of the previous day at all. David didn’t expect it to be a major topic of conversation, and honestly, he didn’t know what he expected. But it definitely wasn’t this. This was weird, and the whole house felt funny, like it was made of cards, and everyone had to watch how they breathed to avoid knocking the whole place down on their heads. 

David couldn’t stand it; he had just gotten used to this new routine, and it was irritating and hard to focus when it got mixed up once again. This all felt  _ wrong.  _ Even more wrong than it had felt when Sean first arrived. David didn’t like it. 

Maybe it would get better in a few days, but David didn’t want to wait and find out. He didn’t think he could stand a few more days of this. Even Les was quiet and stiff, and he was normally bouncing off the walls and impossibly talkative. 

Les was honestly the hardest one for David to handle. He looked almost afraid of Sean, and that wasn’t right. He should be following the other boy around, chattering like a squirrel, not avoiding him as much as possible.

The breaking point for David was dinner that night. Since they didn't have practice on Mondays, the whole family had been at home since school ended, meaning almost four hours of talking but not really talking. 

Bryan had made some kind of vegetable pasta, which once again, Sean pushed around on his plate and then gave to Les. Normally at least Les would be talking, maybe Sarah or Bryan, but this time it was pretty much silent, except for the scraping of forks. David was really getting frustrated by now. 

Dinner went by much faster without the usual talking, and soon the table was cleared and Sean had made his way into the living room, where he curled up in his usual spot by the window, Jenny snuggled up against his stomach. 

David mustered up all the confidence he could, and asked, "Sean, can I talk to you?" 

His voice came out embarrassingly like a squeak, but at least the words came out. 

The skinny boy half uncurled his legs and turned towards David without saying anything. He just stared, and David found himself intimidated once again by a boy less than half his size. 

“I-uh… I wanted to ask you, I mean, you don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to obviously, but, um,” David stuttered. Sean snorted in response to his obvious struggling. 

“David. Spit it out.”

_ Just say it fast and get it over with,  _ David ordered himself.

“Look, I just don’t want things to be like - like  _ this  _ all the time. It’s awful! I understand if you don’t want to talk to me about whatever happened but I can’t stand even one day like this, so if you don’t want to talk, I’m going to.” Sean frowned, kicking his feet around and standing up from the chair.

“Look, I’m sorry I beat up your boyfriend. He was being a dick, but I freaked, like, a lot too much out. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. Can we please not talk about it anymore?” 

“Please just let me finish!” 

David was practically begging now. He had to get all this out before he exploded. 

Sean bit at his knuckle nervously and nodded. 

“I know you were uncomfortable when you came here, like, it totally makes sense that you would be, because who wouldn’t be? I guess I just wanted to say sorry if me and Jack were part of that. I don’t like it, but I know sometimes us being gay makes people feel awkward, even if they don’t mean to be, and I just want you to know I understand if you're uncomfortable, and I shouldn’t have made that joke about you and Racetrack when I knew you didn’t like that I was gay and...”

He stopped to take a breath and realized he was word-vomiting. That happened occasionally when he got really nervous, which talking about this stuff definitely made him feel. 

“David,” Sean took advantage of the short pause. 

“You guys are fine. I just… I fucking hated everything, okay? Not just you and Kelly. I still hate everything, by the way. That hasn’t changed just cause I had a fucking breakdown.”

He sounded angry now, but in a more tired, less aggressive way than usual.

“This isn’t a goddamn Hallmark movie where you can cry your problems away and everything’s  _ magically  _ All Better, so leave me the fuck alone.”

He turned and walked away, hands shoved in his pockets. David looked up in surprise at Sean’s parting remark. 

“And for the record, it was never because you were gay.”

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

David was a prick. 

His stupid fucking concern and his stupid fucking data dump and his stupid fucking  _ niceness  _ all pissed Spot off beyond belief. 

The worst part was, no matter how much Spot told himself David was a prick, he knew he wasn’t really. 

Sure, David was stiff and proud and annoying and took everything too seriously, but he  _ cared,  _ like, actually cared, and he was obviously making an effort to be friendly. That annoyed Spot too, because for once, he kind of wanted to be friendly back. 

It didn’t help that everyone was acting like two countries in possession of nuclear weaponry. Always a little too cautious, a little too careful, and trying really hard not to be the one to start a globally devastating war. 

Have a mental breakdown  _ one time,  _ and suddenly everyone’s walking on eggshells. 

Spot curled up in his bed, trying to stop the familiar stabbing pain in his stomach. 

David thought he hated him for being gay. It wasn’t that at all. He hated David for being  _ David,  _ not for being gay. 

Spot was gay, or at least he thought he was. It was all so confusing. He didn’t really  _ like  _ most people, so romantic affection wasn’t really up for consideration. Add to that the fact that a lot of the foster families he’d been stuck with had been very very religious and very very opposed to gay people, and you ended up with a bit of a mess. 

Spot really had no idea what he liked, but he was pretty sure Racetrack fell into whatever category that was. He was sarcastic and chill, and apparently didn’t know when to take a break from work if his almost constant state of exhaustion was anything to go by. Spot had no idea if Racetrack was straight or gay or what, and he didn’t know how to find out. 

Spot Conlon was not very experienced at relationships, which was pretty normal considering he was fourteen. He’d “dated” two people. One was a girl when he was twelve. Miranda Williams, long blonde hair and a nice smile. They held hands a lot, and then he found out that she only liked him because she thought that dating the foster kid was “tragically romantic”. Disgusting girl. 

The second relationship had been about a year ago, and was the one that definitely made Spot the most confused about his sexuality. It also marked the only time Johnathan had actually removed Spot from a home where he was getting beat on. 

Ryan Coolidge.

Brown hair, glasses, and freckles. Snorted when he laughed, which was often, and really really liked Star Wars. The polar opposite of Spot Conlon, which was probably why it took their families so long to figure it out. 

Ryan’s parents had been supportive. Spot’s had not, and he still had the scars to prove it. 

It was hard to know how you feel about other guys when your foster parents thought they could “beat the homosexuality out” of you. 

Logically, he knew the Denton/Jacobs/WhateverThey’reOfficiallyCalled family didn’t care if he was gay or straight or anything else. David had a boyfriend who was over all the time, and Sarah mentioned both guys and girls she’d been with. 

But Spot couldn’t get the memories of those people who hadn’t been that way out of his head. 

“Homemade Conversion Therapy.” It was about as bad as one would think. 

Fortunately, exposing a minor to porn and then beating him is apparently illegal. Spot was pretty sure that was the only time he’d ever seen Johnathan mad at anyone besides him.

The simple truth was, Spot didn’t know how he felt about people of any gender, at least not in a romantic sense. Maybe with these people, (and he dared to hope, Racetrack) he’d have a chance to figure it, and that whole part of himself, out. 


	18. Chapter 18 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I did look up cat fur genetics for this, so in theory it's physically possible for the babies to have those color fur. 
> 
> Look at me, doing research and stuff!

A few days later, Spot woke up to squeaking coming from under his bed.

He flipped upside down to investigate, brushing the blankets aside and hoping it wasn't a squirrel or a rat or something. 

He nearly fell off the bed when he saw what the wiggling lump of spotted fur named Jenny was doing. 

“Holy shit,” he breathed softly. 

What was he supposed to do about  _ this? _ Denton would know, hopefully. 

He quickly threw on a shirt to avoid another unwanted conversation about how skinny he was, and headed downstairs to Denton's "office". It wasn't really a separate room, just a small alcove in the kitchen that he'd put a sliding paper screen in front of. Why he added the screen, and then always left it open, Spot didn't know. Aesthetics probably, or the (very very faint) illusion of strictness. 

He had a desk, and a bookshelf, and that was about all there was space for in the tiny “room”.

“Denton?” The man half glanced up from his computer, still writing whatever article he was working on. (He'd said something yesterday about labor laws in Europe, which Sarah asked a million questions about and Spot tuned out the entire conversation.)

“Yeah bud?” 

Spot winced. He didn't like "terms of endearment" or any nickname from foster families. Skittery had been the exception, and only because Spot actually liked him. 

At least with Denton, they sounded natural and not like forced familiarity. 

Denton was still probably waiting for a response, Spot realized with a jolt. What had he even come down here to ask? Oh, yeah. That. 

“There’s seven cats under my bed”.

Denton stopped typing for a moment, turning to face Spot.

"Come again?”

“Under my bed. There’s seven cats. Well, six of them are kittens. I’d rather there be zero, honestly, but I could handle the one when she stayed quiet. Not seven yowling fluffballs.” 

Spot wanted to make it clear that he wasn't  _ worried _ about the kittens. They were just annoying. Or they would be when they got old enough to move. He was NOT concerned about their safety. 

It made him a little bit uncomfortable to think that the miracle of birth had occurred just a few inches beneath him while he slept, and he hadn't even known. Though maybe he was glad he hadn't known, that would have been even more uncomfortable to think about. 

Why was Denton looking at him like that?

"Sean.  _ What  _ are you talking about?”

“Jenny apparently was pregnant."

"Jenny is pregnant?"

"Well obviously the fuck not anymore!"

Spot was getting exasperated. Denton wasn't usually this stupid. 

"Language," Denton chided absently, but he looked a bit at a loss. 

“How did we not notice she was pregnant? I thought she was just… chubby.”

“Apparently not. What do I do?”

“I’ll call the vet. We’ll see,” he reached for his phone, and Spot went back upstairs to keep watching the cats. 

He lay down on his stomach and wriggled half under the bed to get comfortable and see better. 

Jenny had given birth to six presumably healthy kittens. At least they looked healthy? He hoped they were healthy. Two calicos, like their mom, a tortoiseshell, two black and white spotty ones, and one pure black. They were definitely cute, Spot had to admit, with their tiny folded ears and fluffy little bodies. 

But that didn't change the fact that they probably weren't safe under the bed. Or maybe they were? He didn't know much about kittens. 

Jenny gave a proud little mrrp! when she saw him watching, and then went back to licking the wriggling balls of fluff. 

She seemed more relaxed than she had been since Spot met her. Maybe pregnancy made you neurotic and jumpy. It certainly sounded stressful, having other, smaller versions of yourself growing  _ inside  _ you. 

Spot had lived with a pregnant lady once. She and her husband were actually really nice, and he had almost liked the couple. Then the baby popped out and they had no interest in having a kid that wasn't their blood hanging around the house anymore, so Spot was handed off to the next family. 

That was when he decided he wasn't going to like anyone anymore. It wasn't worth the trouble. 

Of course, now he was starting to weaken, and like this new family more and more every day. Les wasn't scared of him anymore, Sarah and Denton had stopped acting like Spot would fall over dead if they looked at him wrong, and David was back to being annoying as usual. Spot actually found himself happy about it, too, which didn't make much sense. 

He also had real friends here. Spot had always had "friends", but these were more than just people he occasionally smoked pot with under the bleachers when they didn’t feel like going to class. These new friends weren’t anywhere near Boots level of friends, but they were still friends. 

Especially Racetrack, who Spot was secretly and embarrassingly starting to worry about. The saxophone player spent all of his time at band or work, and it was getting more and more obvious that he was exhausted, but nobody seemed to know how to bring it up. 

David insisted that Racetrack "always did this kind of thing," but since it was Racetrack's first year in marching band, Spot didn't know how David could know that. 

Spot stroked Jenny's side, now lost in thought.

Racetrack definitely needed help. If the guy didnt get some rest soon, he might just crash, and Spot didn't want his absolutely-not-a-crush to die before he even had a chance to figure out how he really felt about having human emotions. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Denton coming in the room, making Spot jump and slam his head into the side of the bed. 

"Fucking hell!" He rubbed the now sore spot. 

"Language!" Denton said, but he was smiling. 

"I talked to the vet. He said as long as they aren't in any danger, it's probably best to leave them where they are. We want to avoid stressing new mom Jenny out." 

Spot nodded, wiggling out from under the bed. He remembered too late that he was supposed to be annoyed by having a litter of kittens taking up residence under his bed, and decided to abandon the plan of faking like it was a problem. 

Denton was talking again. 

“I’ll bring her food and water up here, if that’s okay with you? So she doesn’t have to go too far from the kittens to eat.”

Spot nodded again. He’d have to be quiet in here for now, so the cats wouldn’t be disturbed. It would really suck if Jenny panicked and abandoned the kittens. No way would they survive on their own, and as much as Spot insisted he hated cats, he didn’t want the death of six fluffy little things on his conscience. 

Plus, though he’d never admit it, Jenny was starting to grow on him. She’d been through a lot in her relatively short kitty life, and the poor girl deserved a safe place for her little family to grow. As long as Spot was around, she was going to get that safety. 


	19. Chapter 19 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Band stuff.   
> Imma get rid of Weasel, dont worry.

“You guys give everyone nicknames, and the one they come up with for you is  _ Crutchie?”  _ That seemed remarkably insensitive, even to Spot, who made a habit of offending people as much as possible. 

The curly haired boy laughed. “I like it. It’s me. People don’t have to tiptoe around me just cause I’ve got a bad leg.” That made sense, Spot thought. 

They were hanging around during a water break before their full run though at the end of practice, and Crutchie had been explaining their nickname system to Spot. It was a welcome distraction from the fact that he’d basically screwed up everything the entire rehearsal, which Mr. Weisel was not happy about. 

“Hey, we need to give Sean a nickname,” Bumlets pointed out. Spot hadn’t told them about the nickname he already had, but maybe he should, before he wound up with something stupid, like David’s  _ Mouth.  _

“Some people call me Spot.” Millie wrinkled her nose, confused. “Why Spot? Because you’re small?” Spot bristled. 

This girl was always hanging off of Spot, and it was incredibly irritating. He’d tried to get rid of her, but she’d just cried and then went right back to stalking him. 

“I am  _ not  _ small. And it’s cause I burned a spot into the wall of all the homes stupid or unlucky enough to get me dumped on them.” 

Racetrack snorted, and Spot felt his stomach flip. “Okay, Spot it is then. We should get back on the field, sooner we get this done the sooner we can go home.” The saxophone player always looked like he was on the verge of collapse lately, and now was no different. He looked ready to fall over.

The boy was also prone to making squawking noises whenever he got surprised, which Spot found annoyingly amusing. Racetrack was definitely something, and Spot did not like how it made him feel. 

Unfortunately, the full run through went much the same as the rest of the practice had for Spot, which meant it did not go well. 

He was having serious trouble with keeping track of what button did what today, and Millie’s giggling did not help. 

“Don’t worry about it, Sean-I mean Spot. Everyone has a bad day,” Crutchie encouraged as they shoved the equipment into the closet. 

“Yeah, I know,” Spot grumbled. “But I don’t have to be  _ happy  _ about it.” He shut the door after checking to be sure everything was hung up and put away. At least that was something he could do right. 

“Sean, hurry up,” David said impatiently. 

“I have homework to do and I want to get home.” Well, now he had to find a reason to take longer. Annoying David wasn't just a hobby, it was a way of life. 

“Be right there, I wanna talk to Racetrack first.” Ignoring David’s grumbling about waiting in the car, Spot took his time wandering to the woodwind locker area, where Racetrack was messing with his saxophone, completely unaware of anything. 

Spot walked up to the other boy, who continued to be oblivious to his presence. He waited until Racer put his instrument in its case, and then poked him in the rib s. 

Racetrack made a very undignified squawking noise and jumped about three feet in the air, spinning to glare at Spot, who immediately started laughing. 

“Bullying!” Racetrack whined, rubbing his side. Spot grinned. 

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” He was still trying to look injured, but now was clearly hiding a smile. 

“Squawk like a fucking parakeet all the time?”

“It’s kinda a habit I picked up at work.” Racetrack worked at a sandwich shop; why was he squawking at work?

“Okay, why do you have to do that at work though?”

“Because I’m not supposed to say motherfucker in front of customers.” Spot laughed, somehow surprised by that. 

“I’m serious! The amount of times someone has come up and bumped me or something and I almost drop a whole tray of fucking soup bowls or something on myself is ridiculous!”

Spot laughed again, and almost responded when Weisel came in and interrupted. 

“Boys. What are you doing in here?”

Race jumped again. “Nothing, Mr. Weisel. Just cleaning some turf out of my sax.” 

Weisel nodded, not interested. 

“Anthony, why don’t you head out and meet your mother. I’d like to have a word with Sean, in private.” Racetrack nodded, his usual snark gone like it always was around the director. 

As soon as he was out the door, Weisel turned to Spot, arms crossed. 

_ Of course we have to do this,  _ Spot thought, irritated. Have one bad day and now everybody's mad. Falling back on old habits, Spot found himself looking for a way out. An escape. 

No. He didn't need an escape, everything was okay. He tried to convince himself, but it didn't really work. 

Spot found himself chewing on his knuckle again, but he managed to stop before breaking the skin. 

“Sean. I understand your life has been  _ difficult  _ up until now. But really, this kind of thing is unacceptable.”

Spot glared at him, immediately defensive. “What kind of  _ thing  _ do you have a problem with?”

“Well, the attitude, for one. And you’re distracted. We can’t have you mixing up the sound effects at this point in the season. What if it happens at a competition? Your fellow bandmates are depending on you, and if you want to continue in this program, you need to deal with whatever is holding you back. Get over it, and have some consistency.”

Spot saw red.

This fucker had  _ no idea  _ what it was like, being tossed around like garbage, and he clearly didn’t care. It’s not like Spot was  _ trying  _ to fuck up the tech stuff. It was an accident, and not even that bad of an accident. 

“Get over it? Fuck you. I don’t have to  _ get over  _ anything. You people can get over yourselves.”

Apparently talking back was a mistake, because Weasel slapped him, hard. He stumbled back a few steps, catching himself against the wall with one hand. 

“Fucking Christ, what the hell?!” Spot shouted, immediately up and ready for a fight. Weasel just laughed. 

He hit him again, this time in the ribs, and Spot fell, curling in on himself in agony. Why did it hurt so much? Weisel hadn't hit him that hard. He'd definitely been hit harder. 

“You’re fucking insane,” he gasped, trying not to panic. This was a familiar situation, and Spot did not like it. 

"How the hell do you think you’re supposed to keep your job after this shit?”

Mr. Weisel just laughed. 

“Who’s going to believe a little trouble maker like you? Your word is no better than a rat's.” 

He was right. Nobody would believe this, they’d think he just didn’t like his teacher. To be fair, he really did not like him, especially at this present moment.

“I bet people would believe a video, though.” 

David? Why was he back here?

The tall, skinny boy held up his phone, glaring at Weisel with a ferocity Spot had never seen in him before as he offered a hand to help him to his feet. 

“I forgot my phone charger. Glad I did. Sean, come on. I’m calling Bryan.”

Spot scrambled to get his feet under his body, wincing at the stabbing pain in his stomach. That probably wasn’t a good thing. 

Weisel just stared after them, mouth slightly agape, as Spot followed David to the car, concentrating on not wincing with every step. 


	20. Chapter 20 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am cursed with writer's block so this is not my favorite chapter I've ever written, but I wanna keep up the "writing every day" momentum, so here it is.

David sat on the couch, a little black kitten snuggled up on his chest. It was a few days after the incident in the band room, and He was pretty sure he had never felt that angry in his entire life.  _ Nobody  _ put their hands on his family. 

Family? He had surprised himself. Was Sean family now? Well, why couldn’t he be? He lived with them, didn’t he? They slept under the same roof and petted the same cats and ate the same food, so why not call him family?

Well, family or not, Sean was a tiny little shrimp of a kid, no matter how tough he liked to act. (Not that David was stupid enough to tell him that) David wasn’t about to stand by and let Weisel  _ hit  _ him. 

He’d known the band director was a jerk, but no one would have ever thought he would  _ ever  _ get physical with a student. Ever. Teachers do not do that, even bad teachers like Mr. Weisel.

David Jacobs had a perhaps odd amount of trust in his teachers, even teachers he didn’t particularly like, such as Weisel. Really, he had no idea why the man was a teacher, since he certainly didn’t seem to enjoy it. 

That was one of the many reasons David felt absolutely no guilt or pity for him when he told Bryan what had happened. 

The man had been  _ livid  _ when David told the story, and he realized then that Sean hadn’t actually seen Bryan angry before. This was obvious when the boy started fidgeting and gnawing at his fingers, a habit that David noticed he did when he got nervous. Apparently Bryan being angry made him nervous. 

Understandable; it would have made David nervous too, if he didn’t know that Bryan would rather cut off his own hand than lay a finger on any of his kids. Sean didn't know that, obviously. He'd seemed convinced that he was in trouble for the whole situation, and it made him jumpy and more irritable than normal. Though he was usually pretty irritable.

Maybe David should give Sean a fidget. The Rubiks Cube was always a good distraction. Mr. Weisel didn’t like it when David had the Rubiks Cube out. Mr. Weisel didn’t like a lot of things. He probably wouldn’t like getting fired, which Bryan seemed determined to make happen, but David wasn’t about to argue with his father on that one. 

Sarah wanted to argue; she thought they were being too forgiving, and was of the opinion that they should set the band director on fire, or feed him to a family of tigers. Thankfully, she’d agreed to settle for ending his teaching career and destroying his reputation, especially when David pointed out that that meant Oscar and Morris would probably be gone too. 

While David had never really liked Mr.Weisel or his stupid nephews, this whole situation was a lot to deal with. Sean was lucky. He was allowed to deal with it by locking himself in his room immediately upon returning home, leaving David to explain everything to Bryan. Luckily, Sean had given him the full story in the car, so there had been no significant gaps in his retelling. 

He couldn’t believe someone, especially a teacher, would tell Sean to “get over” his past. David didn’t know all of what the younger boy had been through in his life, but if it landed him in a foster home, it couldn’t have been fun. 

He and Sean had actually been getting along lately, David thought irritably, stroking the soft baby fluff behind a tiny black kitten ear. Now Sean had spent the past two days holed up in his room, only coming out to sit and push his food around at dinner, not eating anything.

David hated Weisel more than he ever had before, and he’d hated the man a lot in the past. It had taken the boys weeks to start getting along, and now it seemed they were back to square one. Sean didn't talk unless he was forced to, and then everything was short and angry. 

He did seem able to take comfort in the new kittens; everyone did, really. They were adorable and soft, and it was impossible to be upset when holding one of them. David smiled as he thought about Jenny, now a proud mother of six. She was still a bit skittish, but definitely less so than before. 

Bryan could probably use some kitten therapy right now. The man had spent most of the past two days on the phone with various school administrators and other official people, and he was bound to be stressed out. 

David carried the kitten gently in one arm (how could they be so small and light?) and went to find Bryan. 

He immediately went to the office, where his father had been spending the vast majority of his time over the weekend. David narrowly avoided colliding with Sean, who also carried a kitten. He did not look happy as he stormed out of the kitchen and back to his room, slamming the door as he went. 

David gave Bryan a questioning look, and the man responded with a sigh. 

David offered Bryan the kitten; he looked like he needed it. The small, fuzzy gift was accepted gratefully, and David pulled a chair from the table to sit beside his father. 

“What’s with him?” He leaned his head on Bryan’s shoulder and gestured toward the stairs Sean had just stomped furiously up. 

“Obviously I had to tell his social worker, Johnathan, what happened. He’s decided that Sean needs to see a therapist.”

David was confused. Why was that a bad thing? He’d talked to therapists, it wasn’t that bad. Awkward maybe, at least the first few times, but nothing to freak out about. Then again, Sean did seem prone to freaking out easily. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Bryan continuing to speak. He sounded like he needed someone to talk to, and David was happy to listen. 

“I don’t have anything against the idea, but I’d say it’s pretty obvious that telling Sean he  _ has to  _ do something only makes him more determined not to do that thing.” 

David nodded. Sean was definitely stubborn. The real question was, how had Johnathan managed to work as his social worker for as long as he had and still not figure that one out for himself?

“Are you taking him to see Lisa?” David asked. He’d talked to Lisa before. She was the one who gave him the Rubiks Cube. 

“Yes,” Bryan sighed. “I just hope he can manage to forgive me for it.”

“I'm sure he will,” David encouraged. “Lisa’s nice. Just buy him food after like you did with me.” That brought a little smile to Bryan’s face, David noted with satisfaction. 

Things would be okay. They always were. 


	21. Chapter 21 (Spot)

Spot's stomach hurt. It had been hurting constantly since Weasel hit him, which was honestly somewhat concerning. 

He was still waiting for Denton to be mad at  _ him.  _ After all, he'd caused this whole mess, and it didn't make sense that the man would just forget about that. 

Denton kept reassuring Spot that he wasn't in trouble, but he found that hard to believe.  _ Just wait a few days, _ he thought to himself.  _ Wait until everyone gets really fed up with this mess. Then it'll be your turn.  _

Sitting in his favorite chair and petting one of the kittens, Spot let his mind wander. 

Denton of course had not been happy when he'd heard the story, and immediately started making phone calls to the school administration, and then a lawyer. 

Weasel actually seemed to have done the impossible. He'd managed to piss Bryan off. Spot almost felt bad for him. Almost. He didn’t really feel bad.

He stroked the soft spotted fur, lost in thought. 

Really, he was most surprised that David had defended him. David was usually angry with Spot, not on his behalf, but now he was trying to get the band director fired, for Spot. Sure, they’d been getting along better lately, but it was still weird. 

Hungry for once, Spot scooped the kitten close to his chest and wandered into the kitchen to find something to eat. He was greeted by the uncomfortable sight of Denton, sitting in his office looking exhausted and more than a little bit frazzled. 

Spot was shifting uncomfortably, wondering if he should say something, when Denton glanced up and saw him standing in the kitchen. 

"Hey, Sean, come sit. I need to talk to you about something."

Spot cautiously pulled a chair from the table nearer to Denton's desk and sat, resisting the desire to bite his knuckles. Was the man finally mad at him? Spot had gotten into a fight, an actual, physical fight, with a teacher. What foster parent would want to deal with that kind of bullshit? Most of them wouldn’t even stand for fights with other students, much less authority figures. 

He looked everywhere except at Denton. Little statues of birds decorated the small "room" (always the damn birds with this guy), along with a few childish drawings framed and hung proudly on the wall. Most were of cats, some with names that Spot recognized scrawled across the tops of the pages, and some names he didn’t. Apparently the Jacobs children had lived with plenty of different cats throughout the years, and all were deemed important enough to be immortalized with a portrait. 

Spot's eyes wandered to the desk, where he saw something that brought a little jolt of surprise. 

Next to a variety of different pictures of David, Les, and Sarah in various activities at various ages, was a framed photo of him, curled up with a book in the armchair by the window. It was actually a really nice photo, with the sun coming through the blinds and making everything look all cozy. He hadn't realized that Denton had taken it, but then again, that was pretty much the only reason he would have been able to. Spot didn't like people taking his picture. 

It was weird to see a picture of himself in a frame on somebody’s desk, but not a bad weird. 

Just weird. 

"So. I just got off the phone with Johnathan," Denton began gently. 

Spot froze, trying not to squeeze the kitten in his hands. Things were sort of okay here. Of course they were kicking him out now. This whole mess with Weisel was more trouble than he'd ever caused, and he really couldn't blame Denton for wanting to push him off on someone else. 

"We've made the decision to take you to a therapist."

Spot felt his heart jump into his throat, and he had to loosen his grip when the bundle of fur in his arms let out a squeak. 

He hadn't expected this. Why the fuck did he have to go to therapy? He wasn't crazy, was he? He’d done “therapy” before. Therapy meant you were broken. It meant there was something wrong with you. There wasn’t anything wrong with him. He was fine. 

Was Denton talking? He was talking. To Spot? Yes, who else would he be talking to? Spot didn't want to listen. 

"Her name is Lisa, she's a very nice woman. David has seen her before, and I think you'll like her." Spot didn't like anyone, especially not people he was forced to talk to. It didn't matter how "nice" she was; that didn't change the fact that he didn't want to see her. 

They hadn’t asked if he  _ wanted _ to talk to anyone. Nobody ever fucking asked. 

“You have an appointment with her tomorrow, actually,” Denton continued. He looked directly into Spot's eyes, and the genuine concern was irritating. 

“Sean, I know this is sudden, but it could really help you to talk to someone about, well, everything.”

Spot slammed the chair back and stood, suddenly pissed. He wasn't  _ broken,  _ so why were they trying to fix him?

"You can make me go, but you can't make me talk," he snapped, shoving past David, who looked like he’d just come into the kitchen, and going to his room. 

Spot slammed the door behind him, enjoying the fact that everyone in the house would have to have heard how pissed he was.

He placed the kitten gently on the floor before flopping on his bed. He winced. That  _ hurt. _ Everything hurt. God, it never  _ stopped. _ Two minutes ago he was hungry; now he wanted to vomit or die. Probably both, in whatever order the universe decided would be the most torturous for him. 

Spot curled into a tight ball and breathed in the always familiar smell of his jacket. The smell of his blanket was becoming more and more familiar too, just like everything else in this house. 

Clean and warm and safe. 

Safe was a new one. It was...nice. 

He reached for his book, the most recent in assigned reading for English, Macbeth. He hadn’t known how  _ weird  _ Shakespeare was until recently. Since living here, Spot had actually started doing his homework. Though he would never admit it out loud, Spot privately admitted that maybe David and Sarah were good influences. 

Spot wrapped the bright yellow blanket around his shoulders and leaned against the wall, getting as comfortable as possible in spite of the pain in his abdomen. It looked like he’d be staying here, at least for a while longer. That was good, right? Even if he had to see some crazy doctor. It was better than having to move again. 


	22. Chapter 22 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot sees a therapist because I like my therapist. Hi Linda if you read fanfiction which you probably don't. 
> 
> The ending on this chapter is not my best work because I had no idea how to end it, but here it is anyway.

It felt weird to be hanging around outside the school in the middle of the day, Spot decided. There was nobody else around, and if it weren’t for the full parking lot, it would have seemed like a weekend. 

He shivered in the November cold, waiting for Denton to pick him up to go see this Lisa person. At least he got to miss math class. The teacher was still a jackass, but he’d toned it down a little as the “incident” with Weisel got around. Apparently he liked his job and didn’t want to have to deal with Dento trying to get him fired too. 

Spot saw Denton's familiar blue car pulling in the lot and walked over to get in, wanting to be warm as soon as possible. Thankfully, Denton was of the same opinion as he was, that the heater should always be on full blast because there can be no such thing as too warm. 

Unfortunately it was a short ride, and Spot was soon forced back into the cold of a different parking lot, this one at the therapist's office. And it was no wonder Denton approved of this therapist; she also had about a million bird feeders. 

Three of the walls in the waiting area were a creamy off-white, and one was a chalk board with colorful scribbles decorating the entire surface. 

They waited in the uncomfortable doctor's office chairs for approximately five years by Spot's counting, or three minutes by the clock's counting. 

Finally, a woman drowning in colorful scarves stepped into the room and greeted them with a smile. She'd achieved the impressive feat of being shorter than Spot. 

“Hello, you must be Sean. I’m Lisa, it’s nice to meet you.” 

This woman’s smile was too big and too genuine and Spot hated her already. 

"Why don't you come with me, your dad can finish all the paperwork while we talk." Spot didn't bother to correct her on Denton not being his dad, because that would have required him to talk. 

She led the way into a small room filled with candles and rocks and other hippie stuff, as well as a heap of stuffed animals and some chairs. 

Spot flopped onto the squishy chair as aggressively as possible, which was unfortunately not very aggressively. 

Lisa either didn't notice his burning hatred for her, or she didn't care, because she just kept smiling. 

“Usually I use the first session as just a Get-To-Know-You kind of thing, so is there anything you want to ask me? No bad questions here, or wrong answers.”

Spot glared at her. He didn’t  _ care.  _ He didn’t want to be here, so he wasn’t going to talk. 

“Alright. If you don’t feel comfortable talking, I’ll just tell you a little about myself.”

_ Fucking Great.  _ Spot tuned the stupid fucking woman out as she told him stupid fucking shit about her stupid fucking life. 

This was how it had been the last time too. They pretended to care what you thought, but really they just ignored anything you said and told you what to think. 

"Sean, I understand you've been in foster homes for about ten years now."

He jolted back to attention. That had almost been a question. She was talking  _ to  _ him, not at him. 

He was so surprised, he actually responded. "Yeah. I was four when they took me from my parents."

She nodded, and the smile was  _ finally _ gone, replaced with an almost as annoying serious look. 

"You say they  _ took  _ you. Do you miss your birth parents?"

"Fuck no," Spot said, not sure why he was telling her any of this. 

"First of all, I barely remember them. Second of all, what I do remember was that they were shitty."

Lisa kept nodding. If he broke her neck she'd probably stop. 

"Shitty how?"

Spot glared at her. She didn't even care that he was cursing at her. _Nothing_ annoyed this woman. 

"It doesn't fucking matter. I don't want to talk about it and you already got me to tell you way more than I wanted to," he snapped, hating that he was once again revealing way too much to a complete stranger. 

He wasn't going to talk anymore, though to her credit, she didn't try to force him. She just talked, and Spot half listened. 

"Well, normally we would have longer sessions, but since it's the first one, there's some things I need to discuss with Bryan, so we can end it here if you'd like."

"Fucking finally."

Spot pushed through the door and back to the waiting area, where Denton sat.

He didn't say anything to the man, just went outside to wait in the car, which fortunately was parked in the sun so it wasn't freezing. 

Denton joined him after a few minutes, and decided to go through a drive thru for lunch. He said that straight up bribery had worked with David to get him to agree to therapy. 

  
“Well, if it worked for  _ David  _ then  _ obviously  _ it works for everyone,” Spot griped sarcastically, trying and failing to get under Denton’s skin. 

Denton handed him a burger, ignoring Spot’s rudeness with irritating ease. Spot's stomach flipped when he looked at the food, and he hadn't even started eating yet. He was in the habit of giving half of every meal to Les, but the kid wasn't here. He'd have to make himself eat it all. 

Joy.

"You don't have to finish it if you're not hungry" Bryan said, glancing at Spot from the corner of his eye as they drove. 

Spot crumpled the wrapper in his fist. 

"Fuck, pull over." He blurted out. 

"What? What's wrong?"

"Pull over, pull over, pull over, pull over,  _ please?"  _ The please seemed to be enough to convince Denton that it was important, because he did as Spot asked. 

As soon as the car stopped, the boy tumbled out the door and proceeded to vomit up everything he'd just eaten. Denton scrambled out the driver's door and around the car, clearly wanting to help. 

The retching sounded painful, even to Spot, who already knew it fucking hurt. He found himself leaning heavily against Denton, who just rubbed his back and said nothing. 

Spot straightened back up and focused on not letting his hands shake. Denton, who Spot decided he didn’t hate anymore, handed him the drink from his meal, still not saying anything. He sipped it carefully, wanting to get rid of the taste of vomit without making himself sick again. 

“Better?” Denton said finally. Spot nodded, still leaning on the man. Denton was warm. That was why he didn’t want to move away from the arm around his shoulders. Just physical warmth, that was all. 

“We should probably get you to a doctor. Hopefully nothing got damaged when that sorry excuse for a man hit you.” The weird mixture of anger and concern in the man’s voice made Spot uncomfortable, and he shifted a little so he wasn’t quite so close. 

“I’m fine.”

He didn’t like doctors. Denton didn’t look like he believed him. The man reached out and pushed on Spot’s side with one hand, causing a stabbing pain to shoot all throughout his abdomen. He yelped embarrassingly, and stumbled away. 

Denton immediately started apologizing, fluttering around like a fucking bird as he tried to help. Spot gritted his teeth and waved the man away. “It’s fine. I’m  _ fine. _ ” 

"You obviously are not. I'm making you a doctor's appointment for as soon as possible. No arguing."

Spot snorted, but said nothing. Denton actually looked stern for once, so it was probably no use protesting this. He climbed back into the car, as and Denton followed suit. He would definitely be back to school in time for band, which was a plus. Though he had no idea what band would be like without the head director. 

Better not to think about that.  _ Think about stuff that makes you mad, Spot. Think about doctors.  _

Yes, doctors made him mad. So nosy and touchy. 

Spot didn't like doctors, and now he had to go see and be probed by two different kinds. Having parents who  _ cared  _ was a real pain in the ass.


	23. Chapter 23 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : Spot's opinion that only psychos and the undead become doctors is his own opinion, not mine.

Spot hated doctors. Always poking at him and being nosy, like they had nothing better to do than harass people who didn't want to be harassed. 

This doctor was no exception. 

The look on the nurse's face when she'd weighed him had already put Spot in a bad mood, and this stupid quack wasn't making things any better.  _ Severely underweight my ass.  _

"How long has the pain been bothering you?"

Spot glared at him.  _ No. Not doing this.  _

"Sean," Denton nudged. "You have to talk this time. I can't answer for you here, I don't know how you feel."

_ Then why did you get to decide I had to come here? _

"It always fucking hurts, okay?" he spat out. "It's been _ bothering me _ my entire life, so I don't see why we're doing all this fucking shit now."

_ This bullshit is what bothers me. Leave me alone.  _

"Well, let me look at it, alright?" He gestured for Spot to sit on his stupid paper covered table-bed thing, which Spot did, muttering curses under his breath. 

The doctor insisted on hearing his lungs and heart (Stupid. His  _ stomach  _ was the problem), and that was just  _ wonderful  _ to have a stranger's weird, cold hands all over his back and chest. 

Was this guy a vampire? Why did he have such cold hands? He was probably a vampire. Normal, living, non-blood drinking humans didn’t decide to spend years of their life and thousands of dollars to go to medical school, then dpend the rest of their life messing around with people's intestines and shit. Psychos and the undead became doctors. 

"Do you smoke, drink, or have any other habits that I should know about?"

"Yep. None I'm going to talk about."

Denton failed to suppress a laugh at that, and Spot glared at him. Wasn't he supposed to disapprove of that kind of stuff?

Spot resisted the urge to bite the doctor's fingers when the jackass insisted on probing at his mouth and ears, and he flat out refused to allow the stupid light to be shone in his eyes for more than half a second. No way was he going blind today. 

"Alright."

Spot noted with satisfaction that the doctor (did he have a name? Probably. Didn't matter. He didn't deserve to be called by a name) was starting to look a bit frustrated. "Lay back for me."

He pushed Spot's shoulders down firmly, so he had no real choice but to do what he was told. 

Trying not to think about the fact that a total stranger was touching him and prodding at his sides, Spot instead focused on all the different things he hated about this entire experience. 

The stupid crinkly paper pissed him off, and the stupid doctor with his stupid cold hands all over everything pissed him off and this stupid room that smelled like chemicals pissed him off, and the stupid stabbing pain in his stomach pissed him off. 

Gently feeling around his entire abdomen, the man finally pressed at a part on Spot’s side that really fucking hurt. He hissed at the touch, pulling away in pain and slapping at the probing fingers to make them stop. The doctor frowned as Spot scrambled to avoid falling on the floor. 

“Nothing feels broken, but if it’s causing you significant pain, I’d recommend an x-ray, just in case.”

_ Wonderful.  _ Yet  _ another  _ doctor. That would be just  _ lovely.  _

Finally, after what felt like forever, they left the office with a new appointment for the next day, this one at an actual hospital with x-ray facilities. Spot was not looking forward to that little field trip at all. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Marching band without a director really just meant that the assistant director did all the director stuff. Spot enjoyed it a lot more this way, without all the screaming, and now he was allowed to move occasionally when he got cold. Spot hated being cold, and Mr. Weisel lost his shit if any of the pit kids paced or moved at all to keep warm, even though it got fucking freezing in the end of October and beginning of November, and he wasn't  _ moving  _ to do all the sound effects. 

It was also snowing half the time, but not enough for it to stick, so they still practiced outside. Spot was really looking forward to the season ending so he wouldn't have to do this anymore. 

Racetrack jogged over on their break right before the full run through, wrapped in a concerningly small number of layers. He looked tired, like usual. 

"Hey Spot. Davey said you were at the doctor today? How's it going? Is it terminal?"

The half-joking concern on Racetrack's face didn't piss Spot off nearly as much as it would have on someone else. 

"I'm fine. Denton's convinced I'm dying 'cause I got carsick," he rolled his eyes.

"Hey, ya gotta take care of your health, right?" Racetrack gave Spot that sideways grin. Was he blushing? He hoped not. Spot Conlon did  _ not _ blush. Not even when a few snowflakes landed on Racetrack’s dark eyelashes. 

He interrupted his own thoughts before he started to look like an idiot, gazing moonily at Racetrack’s eyes. 

"You have  _ no right _ to talk, Higgins. How much sleep do you get a night?"

"Fair enough. But I have work, and my parents want me in, like, a million AP classes."

Crutchie groaned in exasperation, apparently having been listening to their conversation. 

"So ask to be taken off the work schedule, idiot! Even David did that, and he’s  _ David. _ " David had a job? Spot hadn’t known that. 

"It's only two more weeks!" Racetrack argued. "I'll be fine. I can sleep when the season is over."

"It’s the two most difficult weeks! It's Nationals! You're going to die!" 

Normally this would be where Spot would tune out the conversation, but he actually gave a fuck whether Racetrack lived or died, so he wasn't going to do that this time. 

“Racer, don’t be stupid and listen to the dork,” Spot said, shoving Racetrack’s shoulder playfully, making the boy slip in the slightly snowy grass. 

Crutchie smiled triumphantly.

“See! Spot agrees with me! Hey, wait, whaddaya mean  _ dork?” _

Then Bumlets spoke up. “Racetrack, you’re going to get more sleep or I’ll spike your water jug to  _ make  _ you sleep.”

That was enough to make even Spot laugh. Bumlets didn’t usually have much to say, so his intervention would hopefully make Racetrack use his brain and  _ think _ , something he usually did not do. 

The boy sighed. “Fine. I’ll ask for the next two weeks off.”

“ _ Three,”  _ Crutchie said firmly. “You’re going to take a week after the season ends to sleep and do nothing else.”

Racetrack threw his hands up in a dramatic display of defeat. “Fine! Since you’re all ganging up on me! But this is bullying, and I will have you know that I don’t appreciate it!” 

Spot stubbornly refused to smile at that. Racetrack was  _ not  _ cute when he pretended to be angry. Absolutely not. 


	24. Chapter 24 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just some Javid because I was having a not great day and I needed something to cheer myself up. 
> 
> Also, I have had the sudden realization that not everyone lives in Indiana, so the drive to Grand Nationals at Lucas Oil stadium in Indy would in fact most likely be a very long one which would probably require a hotel. Because I do not care about geography, I am not going to address this at all. 
> 
> Please enjoy!!

David was pretty sure the band had never been happier. Mr. Wiesel was officially gone for good, and it really seemed like they were the better for it. Having a director who actually  _ cared  _ and did the job he was being paid for sure was nice. Warkine, the assistant director, had always been the one doing most of the work anyway, just now he had the power to make decisions. It was just too bad it had happened so close to the end of the season.

They still worked hard, of course, but now they worked hard because they were inspired, and wanted to push up until the season ended. It was genuinely amazing what a good director could do for the band. 

Sarah was certainly working harder now, mainly because Morris had dropped out of band immediately after Oscar had quit following Weisel’s termination. Being the only drum major was a lot of responsibility, but his sister was nothing if not determined. Besides, having no drum major for the back field was basically the same as having Morris, since he’d been really really bad at it anyway. 

Most importantly, at least for David, was that they didn’t have to sit by section on the way to and from competitions anymore. This meant that he was able to  _ sit with Jack on the bus,  _ which Weisel had never allowed. 

David leaned on his boyfriend happily. He liked the rest of the clarinets fine, but he’d much rather sit with Jack. Jack was warm and a big fan of physical affection. David could also fall asleep on him without it being weird, which would be nice on the ride home. 

  
“Hey Jack,” Crutchie leaned over the back of his seat, which he now had to himself, giving him plenty of space to stretch his leg. 

“Are you keeping things school appropriate back there?” he teased, and Jack grinned. 

“No bus sex, don’t worry, Crutchie.” David blushed at even the thought of being intimate around so many people, and Jack laughed a little before kissing him on the cheek. 

“Love you Davey.”   
“Love you too, Jack.”

“Gayyyyy!!!” Crowed Racetrack from across the aisle, and Jack threw his water bottle at the boy’s head. “Shut up, Racer. Everyone knows you’ve got it bad for Dave’s new brother, ya dork.”

David twisted to make sure Sean hadn’t heard that. He’d probably try to kill Jack again. Luckily, he spent this ride, like all the other rides, curled up asleep. This time it was most likely to avoid Mush’s chatter, since the always cheerful boy had insisted on sitting with Sean, despite all protests.

Though maybe he was just tired. He’d been taken to about a million different doctors over the past week, and so far all they’d done was prescribe pills that he insisted did nothing but make him fall asleep in class. David thought that part was probably a lie, but then again, he’d been given some anti anxiety pills that made him crash at irritating times, and Sean was a twig, so it made sense that he’d be affected more.

It was all about finding the  _ right  _ pills, David knew. Pills that didn’t make you tired or give you hives or make you feel ten times worse. It would just be annoying until the doctors figured out which ones were right for Sean. 

It probably didn’t help that none of the doctors could seem to agree what exactly the problem was, despite all the tests they’d done. This of course was just more support for Sean’s opinion that all doctors were scams and should be disposed of, an opinion that David politely disagreed with once, and received a book to the face in reply. 

Sean, who was just now waking up as the bus crunched into the gravel parking lot, obviously was not a fan of doctors. 

David smiled in spite of himself. Sean was becoming more and more like family, and he was pleasantly surprised to find that he had no problem with that. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Having just finished putting on his uniform, David yelped in surprise when someone grabbed him from behind, spinning and brandishing his uniform hanger as a weapon. 

“Jack!” he said, trying to hide a smile. “Not in uniform! Keep your grubby paws to yourself!”

The boy grinned. “But, your ass looks so nice in that uniform. Can’t hardly help myself.”

David failed to suppress his smile anymore. He poked Jack in the stomach with his hanger and laughed. 

“PDA! DisgOSTENG!” Squawked Blink, who was holding Mush’s hand rather hypocritically. Jack responded to that by flinging one of the many rubber bands that it took to contain his hair at Blink’s face, hitting him in the forehead. 

“‘Ey! I only got one eye! Don’t blind me completely!” 

Sarah appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and stopped the good natured fighting before it messed up uniforms or put out any eyeballs. 

“Jack, go do something with your hair. You look like a mop that gained sentience.” That comment earned her a very indignant look. 

“I look  _ majestic.  _ Like a wild stallion. Right, Davey?” David laughed, jumping away as Jack swatted at his head in retaliation. 

“Go put your mane in a bun, cowboy.” He kissed Jack, who pouted, but did as he was told. David turned back to his sister, who was smirking. 

“You two are so  _ cute.  _ Too bad Racetrack won’t grow a spine and tell Small Demon how he feels.”

David laughed. Sarah had forgiven Sean for upsetting Millie, but she still insisted on calling him a devil, which surprisingly didn’t seem to make the skinny boy any angrier than he usually was. 

“But we need our sax soloist, you shouldn’t be wishing for something that would get him set on fire.”  
“David, Sean _obviously_ likes Racetrack. Have you looked at his face when they’re together? He _blushes._ It’s so funny.” Well, that was news to David, but he had to admit, he wasn’t that great at social cues. It had taken him a full two months before he figured out that Jack liked him, and that wasn’t until after his now-boyfriend had gotten frustrated and given up on flirting.

David had to smile at that memory. Jack had confronted him after rehearsal one day, and David would never forget what he’d said. 

“Dave, you’re a stupid, blind idiot with absolutely no social cues, an’ for some reason I like you a lot, so can you please stop torturing me with your stupid hot face and just  _ go out with me?”  _

David loved Jack. He was stubborn and goofy, and so very very clingy, and his smile lit up the whole world…

Wait, what had they been talking about? Racetrack and Sean. Now  _ that  _ was a surprise. But he’d have to think about it later. Right now, it was time to go march around with a clarinet and try not to trip on his own feet for a full ten minutes. That was going to take all of his concentration. 


	25. Chapter 25 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GayBookWorm asked for Spot being protective of Davey and I am happy to deliver. 
> 
> Also, Spot being surprised by how family works because he is a sad bean who deserves all the happiness. 
> 
> TW for an ableist slur, in the paragraph right after Spot briefly considers murder.

Spot hated retreat. He didn't  _ care  _ that it was a tradition, or that it was to "give credit and/or show appreciation for all the bands." 

It was fucking stupid.

They had to stand in a stupid, crowded tunnel under a stupid football stadium for what felt like a million years, and then stand  _ on  _ the stupid field for another million years while some stupid guy on the stupid speaker yammered on about them all being "Winners at Life". 

And all of this bullshit of course had to be done in uniform, making everything infinitely more uncomfortable. 

It didn't help that whatever stupid medication the quack doctor had him on made it incredibly difficult for Spot to stay awake sometimes. It wasn't making his stomach feel any better, so why did he have to take it?

The idiot even  _ admitted  _ that he wasn't sure what was wrong with Spot, so he really saw no reason to keep seeing and listening to the man who had probably gotten his medical degree on the black market or something. 

Leaning on the wall and trying not to fall asleep, Spot glanced lazily down the line of kids, only half registering who and what he saw. 

Mush was chattering away with the color guard girls, like always. Frankly, he looked very silly in his uniform. 

Spandex was never a good fashion choice, in Spot's opinion. 

Bumlets was on his phone, which was pretty impressive, seeing as the uniforms had no pockets. It meant he'd somehow managed to shove his phone down his pants and take it back out without anyone stopping him. 

Spot saw David, and was suddenly concerned. Fuck, an emotion. That was irritating. 

David looked like he hated retreat more than Spot did, which was quite the accomplishment, since Spot hated everything with the intensity of a thousand suns. 

David was fidgeting with the buttons on his uniform, biting at his nails and in general not looking like he was having a fun time. His eyes darted around looking sort of panicked, and Spot wondered where Jack was. Shouldn't it be his job to calm David down? He sighed. 

He couldn't just ignore David. He made his way past groups of chattering idiots and over to the older boy, who by now seemed to be barely keeping it together, much to the amusement of the assholes standing next to him.

Could Spot get away with killing them? It wasn't like anyone could prove it was him. Lots of people in a small space, accidents happen all the time. 

_ Better not.  _ He decided, instead turning to help David.

"David's flipping out again like a retard," laughed a guy Spot didn't know, or care to know. He just glared at him, briefly reconsidering the murder plan, which was now looking very appealing. 

"Fuck off, asshole." He stepped towards him threateningly. Spot knew from experience that most of the time, you didn't even have to fight. Just acting like you would was enough to scare most people off, and this guy was no different. 

Spot had gotten a bit of a reputation, being "the guy who beat up Jack Kelly", and apparently even some idiot percussionist twice Spot's size didn't want to be on his bad side. 

Spot didn't really get why David got so freaked by loud noises. It was kind of weird, but it wasn't like that gave anybody the right to be a dick about it. 

Spot grabbed David's arm, making him jump. He let go immediately and waited for the older boy to register who he was. 

"David, come with me, let's go where it's quiet." He slipped behind a curtain that was pretty clearly meant to keep them out, turning to check that David was following. 

They turned down a dim hallway, and the sound of several hundred teens in an enclosed concrete tunnel became more muffled. 

As David slowed down his breathing, Spot got more and more uncomfortable. He started biting at his knuckle nervously. He  _ really  _ did not know how to handle this situation. 

"Um. You okay?"

David nodded, shaking his arms briskly, and then more awkward silence. 

"Should we go back or….?" Spot didn't want to make David go back into the noisy tunnel if he was just going to get upset again, but they couldn't exactly stay here either. 

"I guess we'd better."

David looked kind of nauseous even as he said that. 

"We could just wait by the bus," Spot suggested. David frowned. "I don't want you to have to miss retreat because of me."

Spot snorted. "I fucking hate retreat. I would rather be outside, even if it's cold."

David was considering it now. 

"Think they'd miss us?" 

"Who cares? Say I'm sick. Poor, pathetic little orphan who vomits all the time. Nobody's going to be the asshole who starts asking questions."

David smiled weakly. "You're not pathetic."

"Thanks, David. "Not pathetic" is probably the nicest thing you've ever said about me." He was sarcastic, but this time, there was no malice behind the words. Spot started off down a hall that looked like it probably led to an exit, and David followed behind. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

"What kind of delinquent would I be if I didn't know how to pick a lock?" Spot smirked.

David groaned in exasperation. "I'm not saying you  _ can't  _ break onto the bus, I'm saying you  _ should not  _ break onto the bus. What if you set off the alarm or something?"

"I won't. I am not standing out here in the wind and freezing cold. Besides, what if somebody comes by and asks us what we're doing?" 

That made David hesitate. How to get a stiff rule-follower to do what you want. Step one : Suggest that their way is against the rules. Step two : do it your way before they have time to stop you.

Spot pulled one of the many pins out of his hair and proceeded to incorporate part two right then. He'd never tried to pick the lock on a school bus before, but it couldn't be that different from a regular car. 

Of course, he had gotten arrested breaking into cars before, but David didn't have to know that. And it had only been, like, three times. 

Besides, in Spot's opinion, it was worth the risk.

It was  _ cold _ and he wanted to get out of the wind. The bus was a convenient source of protection, and also, his blanket was on the bus. 

Spot couldn't contain a little chirp of happiness when he got the door opened. He turned and smirked at David. "Ta da."

David frowned, but a smile was obviously tugging at his mouth and he clearly couldn't hide it as he hopped up the steps and onto the bus. 

Spot was glad to find he had been right. Even turned off, the bus was much warmer than outside. He shut the door behind them and immediately proceeded to change out of his uniform and into his usual black t-shirt. 

Suddenly very aware of just how sleepy he was, Spot curled up on the seat and wrapped himself in his yellow blanket. 

Bryan had been really confused when he asked if he could bring it on the bus. Apparently it was now Spot's blanket, and he didn't have to ask. That was a weird feeling, having stuff that was just his. He had clothes and stuff, obviously, but this blanket had been on the bed when he came. 

It was obviously Bryan's blanket, paid for by him, but he'd given it to Spot. Spot wasn't used to families just letting him  _ have  _ stuff. Normally he couldn't even eat food unless someone specifically gave it to him, and here they were just giving him a nice blanket. 

It was definitely weird, he thought, starting to nod off. Not bad weird, though. 

Spot glanced over at David, who had taken off his uniform and immediately fallen asleep wrapped in one of Jack's flannels (He really embraced the whole Cowboy aesthetic that he was named for). 

Hopefully nobody would notice them being on the bus before everyone else. 

Spot burrowed deeper into the thick blanket and let himself fall asleep. 


	26. Chapter 26 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javid is not my only ship. Took a long nap with my dog yesterday, so I wrote this chapter late at night when I couldn't sleep.

Spot shivered, glaring at the sky and silently cursing whoever invented snow.

Why were they still rehearsing outside? They'd done fine at the competition two days ago, so it wasn't like they had to worry. Sure, their last competition ever was in less than a week, but that just meant they were basically as good as they were going to get. 

He'd had to put big plasticy fabric covers on all the speakers to keep them dry, so all the sounds were weird and muffled and stupid. 

Not to mention, Spot was  _ cold.  _ He hated being cold. And his leg hurt, because apparently he was an arthritic old grandma whose joints acted up when it snowed or rained. 

Spot wrapped his jacket tighter around himself, trying to keep as much warmth as possible. It was way too cold for such a light jacket, but he didn't have anything else. 

And his arm hurt, because the creepy vampire doctor had inevitably stolen some of his blood for "testing". Taste testing probably, before he murdered him and made Spot's blood into popsicles. Unless the weather made his blood freeze first, and then Dracula would have to peel off his skin and… Spot was grossing himself out now. 

He shook his head irritably as more snowflakes landed in his hair and eyelashes. He looked up when he heard a laugh. Racetrack. 

_ Do. Not. Blush.  _

"Hey, Spot. Why arentcha wearing a coat?" The saxophone player asked, blowing air into his instrument to keep it from freezing. 

"Don't have one." Spot said simply. Coats cost money, and everyone was convinced he was going to grow, so buying a coat would just be a waste when he grew out of it. 

"Here, wear this," Racetrack shrugged off his dark blue coat and thrust it into Spot's hands, ignoring any protests. 

"I get to run all over the field and stay warm. You need it more. You're hot, but not that kind of hot." He winked and scampered away before Spot could gather his wits enough to respond. 

_ He thinks I'm hot? _

Luckily, everyone was distracted by the fact that Spot was the exact same shade of dark red as his sweatshirt by Warkine telling them to go out on the field for their run. 

Spot put on Racetrack's coat, which was too loose on him, but he could luckily still use his hands. Apparently he and Racetrack were the same size, except for Spot being significantly thinner.

Spot would  _ not  _ think about the way this coat smelled. Like the weirdly pleasant mixture of soap and smoke that was Racetrack Higgins. Nope, not going to think about that. 

Spot clicked and tapped away, getting the sound effects started and focusing on not thinking about Racetrack.

The light snow turned into a flurry, delicate white flakes falling on the field as the first notes sang out over the muffled effects from the covered speakers. Spot blinked snowflakes out of his eyes, very glad that he didn’t have to make the complicated formations on the field when he couldn’t really see. 

The run quickly became a total disaster as snow covered the field. Instruments began to freeze, sounds croaked, people slid and missed dots that referenced yard lines they couldn’t see. 

But Racetrack was smiling, and looking directly at Spot. It was the most beautiful full run he’d ever seen. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

It had been getting dark earlier and earlier, meaning the sun had already set by the time they pushed the equipment across the parking lot. It was still snowing, but Spot barely noticed. He was too busy not thinking about Racetrack. Not thinking about someone sure seemed to involve a lot of thinking about them anyway though.

Spot had never felt this way about someone before. Even the two fairly short relationships he’d had were fairly easy to navigate, but right now he felt really confused. Racetrack was funny and normal and really cool, and strangely, he seemed to actually  _ like  _ Spot. 

But Racetrack was David’s friend. It didn’t make sense. 

_ But this is the first time you’ve had a normal relationship with a foster sibling,  _ Spot reminded himself. Maybe it was okay to like your brother’s friends, and if David was as much like a real brother as anyone could ever be, then maybe this was okay. 

Spot was sort of aware that Crutchie was talking to him as they put the sound equipment away, but he really could not focus on the boy’s voice at all. He slid the closet door shut and took off Racetrack’s coat, heading to find the other boy and return it. 

Racetrack was putting his saxophone away when Spot found him. 

“Hey, thanks for letting me borrow it.” Spot said awkwardly. Racetrack shrugged and smiled. 

“No problem. What’re friends for?”

_ Friends. Are we just friends?  _ Spot was even more confused now. 

“Hey, Spot, I was wondering,” it was Racetrack’s turn to be nervous now.

“Actually, can we talk outside? Not so crowded.” Spot nodded and followed Racetrack outside. 

They stood beside the school building, which provided a little shelter from the snow.

“Spot, I know this is kind of weird, and like, I know you’re Davey’s brother, so it’s even weirder but I can’t just  _ not  _ say anything, and,” Racetrack was sounding more and more flustered. Spot wondered now.

_ Wait. Does he…  _

“Look,” Racetrack sighed. “Mushy said he doesn’t think you’ll flip out, but if he’s wrong, please don’t get offended by this. I  _ really  _ like you, Spot.” That last part came out fast and rushed, like he had to say it before he lost the nerve. 

Spot could’ve died right there. No way this was real. Racetrack shouldn’t like  _ him.  _ Racetrack was normal and cool and not a basketcase. Why would he like some delinquent who probably wasn’t going to be around that long anyway? 

“Spot?” Racetrack sounded...timid? That was  _ weird.  _

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything. I should have known you didn’t feel-” Racetrack was interrupted from his stammering by 99 pounds of twig-boy pressing his mouth against his. 

Spot had never been good at using words. This made more sense. Less confusion, no way anyone could take it the wrong way. 

Snowflakes swirled, but Spot wasn’t cold. Racetrack was smiling and their hands still touched, and everything was warm and  _ perfect.  _ Spot never wanted it to end. 


	27. Chapter 27 (Racetrack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I fight writer's block by using a different character's perspective. 
> 
> Author is projecting confusing emotions due to sister coming over from her apartment and yelling at the author's dog.  
> The author loves her sister, however, the author does not like when said sister comes over and yells at the dog.   
> The author deals with these feelings by making Racetrack feel them.

Racetrack knew he should probably start talking to his mother, or she'd figure out something was up. He was  _ never  _ quiet during car rides, but he really did not feel like talking right now. He was just so  _ happy.  _

Racetrack touched his lips lightly. Spot had kissed him. Actually kissed him. 

It wasn't Racetrack's first kiss by any means, and he doubted it was Spot's first either.

But wow. That had been… wow. That was something else. 

Race wouldn't normally consider himself a romantic guy, but with the snow falling and the lights in the dark parking lot, well, that was pretty beautiful, even to a guy whose idea of a perfect date was eating pizza in his basement. 

Would Spot like doing that? Probably, who wouldn’t want to eat pizza?

He should ask Spot over once the season ended. Of course, then he’d have to introduce Spot to his entire family, which could be frankly overwhelming, considering Racetrack had six siblings, and his grandma also lived with them. 

It tended to make people uncomfortable, and David had only come over once before saying never again, which Racetrack understood. 

He’d been greeted by the same noise that Racetrack was being greeted with as he walked into the house now, and David hadn’t grown up with it, so he had really not had a good time. Plus, David didn’t like it loud in general, making the Higgins house basically his personal hell. Though he had gotten along fine with Gabriella, maybe because she was so close in age to Les. And she was quiet, unlike the rest of the family. 

It was a little too much even for Racetrack sometimes, like now, when he was greeted by a million shouts and questions as soon as he walked through the door.

His oldest sister, Maria, was over, meaning she was arguing loudly with Izabella, the second oldest. They just liked to argue, or at least, that was what his mom said. Apparently Izabella had managed to lose Maria’s favorite shirt, which, in Racetrack’s opinion, she should have brought with her when she moved out if it was so important to her. 

Maria being over also explained the dog barking, since she didn’t like dogs and always wanted their family dog put in his crate when she was there. 

Matteo, Racetrack’s closest sibling in age, was also apparently in a bad mood, because he immediately accused Racetrack of theft. 

“Tony, what did you do with my phone charger?”

“Why do you always assume it’s me?”

“Cause it’s always you. Where is it?”

Racetrack ignored his older brother in favor of listening to his grandma, who was definitely his most preferred member of the family, not that he’d start the inevitable argument by telling anyone about his favoritism. 

“Anthony dear, have you seen my glasses?”

“No, Nonna, just got home. Did you check your nightstand?” He shrugged his coat off and hung it in the closet. Nonna was eighty two, and very forgetful, but he loved her more than anything.

Nonna squeezed his hand affectionately and shuffled off on her quest to find the glasses she was always misplacing, leaving Racetrack alone with his bickering siblings. 

Luckily, their mother came in right at that moment, giving Racetrack a chance to escape into his room in the basement. He breathed a sigh of relief. Since Maria had moved into her apartment, Racetrack now had his own room. Sure, it was small, but he didn’t have to share it, and that was the important thing. He loved his siblings, really, he did, but they were a lot. To be fair, Racetrack was also a lot, so it wasn’t like he had room to complain. 

“Anthony?” Racetrack jumped at the voice from under his bed.

“Gabriella!”

His younger sister, eight years old and the quietest person in the house, often holed up in his room when things got a bit crazy. Under the bed was her favorite, and most terrifyingly surprising, spot to curl up and read. 

“You’re gonna give me a heart attack one of these days,” he grinned, flopping onto the bed as she crawled out from under it. 

“Sorry. It was so loud upstairs. Why can’t Maria just stay at college like Dante?” She asked, sitting next to Racetrack on the bed.

“Aw, you don’t mean that! You’d miss her too much!” Racetrack felt the need to defend his older sister, though he kind of agreed with Gabriella. He did miss Dante though. Dante was the only one of their older siblings who didn’t think “tease Anthony” was the most fun game ever, probably because he was basically a grown man, and grown men do not typically harass high schoolers, even if they're brothers.

Gabriella definitely did not feel the same way about their older sister though.

“I wouldn’t miss her! Why does she come home so much if she hates us? It gets a million times louder when she comes over, and I don’t like it.”

Racetrack smiled, shoving his baby sister’s shoulder playfully. 

“But she brings you books and stuff. And you learn so many new words when she comes over.”

Gabriella giggled at that part. 

“Izabella said a new one today! Bitch!” 

Racetrack choked on a laugh. “Don’t say that! You’re a little kid, you gotta be all innocent. Besides,” he poked her in the stomach, getting more giggles. “Mom and Dad would just blame me for teaching it to you.”

He was joking, but it was sort of true. Racetrack wasn’t the baby of the family like Gabriella, and while he was typically a bit quieter than his older siblings, he definitely caused his fair share of trouble. Even when he hadn’t actually done anything, stuff got blamed on him a lot. 

“Is Mom still mad you quit your job?” Gabriella looked worried, as she always did whenever someone was even sort of mad. She was a sensitive little thing. 

“A little, but don’t worry. I go back to working as soon as band is over, so then she won’t be mad anymore.”

Racetrack loved his mother to death, but he wished she wasn’t so insistent that he fill every waking moment with productivity. 

Luckily, he had a little sister who knew the importance of sitting and being quiet sometimes. 

Gabriella hugged him around his waist, and he was happy to return it.

“Love you Anthony.”

“Love you too, Gabby.” He hopped off the bed.

“Let’s go see if Dad needs any help with dinner. I’m starving.”

He swung Gabriella onto his shoulders and ran upstairs, his little passenger laughing like a chirping bird. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Dad did not  _ need  _ help with dinner, but he was going to get it, whether he wanted it or not. Racetrack and Gabriella made a salad, and a mess, and then set the table. Gabby wanted to “set it fancy”, so Dad pulled out a tablecloth and a vase, which the little girl filled with bright fall leaves. 

Racetrack had to admit, she was really good at making things look pretty, in spite of the fact that she was only eight. 

Fortunately, Maria and Izabella weren’t mad by the time they sat down to eat, and Matteo had found his phone charger, (In his book bag, so obviously NOT Racetrack’s fault) so everyone was happy and calm. Even Marco came down to eat, and he was almost always busy with night classes at his college or asleep when they ate dinner. 

("Marco is going to  _ be _ something, Anthony. You should take a page out of his book and apply yourself more." "Yes, Mom.")

It was still loud, even with nobody arguing, but a good loud. A warm, friendly loud that made Racetrack feel all full and happy inside. 

His family was loud and crazy, sure, but he loved them, and he really hoped Spot would get to meet them. 

Bagel, the family’s dog, put his head on Racetrack’s leg, begging for food with his big brown eyes, which of course, no human being could ever say no to.

“Anthony! This is why he begs!” scolded Izabella. Apparently Racetrack was not as discreet as he thought he was about his chicken-dropping.

Hopefully Spot wouldn’t be scared off when he finally did get to (have to?)meet the entire Higgins army. 

  
  



	28. Chapter 28 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the point at which I seriously exaggerate my own experiences with crohns for the sake of drama. I never had to go to the hospital because I woke up in agony, but like... it's fun to be mean to the characters? 
> 
> Poor Spot is having a bad time rn. 
> 
> TW for hospitalization stuff.

Spot woke up in the early morning in more pain than he had ever experienced before in his life. His stomach hurt like he was being stabbed. Every joint, every muscle in his entire body burned. 

Spot tried to sit up, but the movement sent pain shooting through his entire body.

The room spun, making him dizzy, and he couldn't think through the pain. He squeezed his eyes shut, but that made the nausea worse. 

Why was he on the floor? Did he fall?

Every inch of skin touching anything else burned like fire. Spot tried to get to his feet, but that was more pain than he could handle. He fell back on the carpet with a choked cry of pain. 

He couldn't breathe. Everything hurt so much. Why did it hurt so bad so suddenly? He was fine yesterday. 

"Sean, what's wrong? Sean?" 

When did Denton come in? The man's hands were freezing. Spot wanted to lean into the coolness, but even his gentle touch was agony. 

Denton put a hand on Spot's side, and he screamed. "Stop! Stop, please!" He choked. "It hurts. It hurts." The hand went away immediately. Spot curled up, whimpering, and he didn't even care how pathetic it looked. God, why did it have to hurt so bad? 

"Sean, we're going to the hospital, but I have to pick you up, alright?" 

Spot couldn't breathe.  _ No, no, no. Don't touch me.  _ He pulled away, curling in on his stomach even more. 

"I'm sorry, kiddo. We can't just leave you like this. Gotta get you help." 

Spot cried out as he was wrapped in his blanket and lifted up by strong arms. This hurt. This was not okay. He tried to pull away, to keep from being touched, but Denton had him tight against his chest. 

_ No. Stop, let go let go let go.  _

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I know, it hurts. We're going to get you to a doctor, okay?" Denton soothed. "David, get the door. Sarah, go get him a shirt." Spot buried his face in Denton's chest and screwed his eyes shut, focusing on not crying. 

It was still dark, and cold outside, which did make the burning of his skin more bearable, but now Spot was painfully and embarrassingly aware of the fact that he didn't have a shirt on. He was just glad he always wore gym shorts to bed. 

Spot was also all too aware of being set down in the car and buckled in. That fucking  _ hurt.  _ But at least Denton wasn't holding him anymore. 

Denton was trying to put his shirt on. That hurt. It hurt so fucking bad. Spot pulled away from the touch, the hands moving his arms painfully. Denton let go. 

"Alright. You can just use the blanket."

Spot closed his eyes as the car started. The soft rumbling felt almost nice, if not for the fact that even the slightest movement felt like his head was in a blender. 

The car went over a bump and Spot yelped like a puppy. "Bryan," his voice sounded so pitiful, even to himself. 

"It's going to be okay, Sean. We're going to figure out what's wrong." 

Denton spoke softly and calmly the entire car ride, and Spot focused on the words, not the stabbing pain in his abdomen.

The car stopped, and he was lifted painfully out again, but this time Spot managed to keep in all but a tiny whimper. 

Inside the hospital, Bryan talked to someone, or maybe it was a lot of someones. Bryan sounded upset, which was weird and scary. Bryan didn't get upset. Spot couldn't really focus. Everything hurt so much. 

It was cold now. Before, he'd felt like fire, and now he was freezing. Why were they taking his blanket? Now everyone could see his ribs and chest and arms and all the scars. 

_ No. This is not right. Help. Bryan, no. Please. Help.  _

He was set down on what was probably a bed and a needle pricked his arm. The pain eased a little, but Spot still wanted to cry. Where was Bryan? Spot didn't want to be alone. Not now. 

They were moving him, that much he was aware of. Where were they going? Why were they leaving Bryan? 

_ No. No. Bryan. Don't leave me alone.  _

Spot didn't care that it hurt to move, he had to get away. Get back to Bryan, where he knew what was going on. Someone stopped him, pushing him onto his back and forcing him to be still. Spot screamed in pain at the touch. 

He wanted Bryan, but Bryan didn't come. Why didn't he come?

_ I want to go home. Stop. Bryan, help me.  _

Maybe it was whatever medication they'd just stuck him with, or being so scared, or maybe just the pain. Whatever the reason, he started crying and then couldn't stop. Spot didn't care how it looked anymore. It hurt.  Everything hurt and he was alone and surrounded by strangers who kept touching him and pinning him to this stupid bed-cart thing. 

And then Bryan was there, they'd put him in hospital scrubs and let him come back in with him. Spot gripped his hand like a lifeline. It was okay. He still hurt all over, but he wasn't alone now. 

"Breathe, kiddo. I got you." 

It was going to be okay. Bryan was there and he was warm and he was certain. Bryan was one thing in the violently pitching and swirling world that felt stable. The world spun and Spot closed his eyes. 

Another needle prick, and then Spot welcomed the darkness, the nothingness. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Spot woke up in a different room, smaller and quieter. 

Someone had put his shirt on for him, which was nice of them, and he had a blanket, though it was a hospital one and not as nice as his from home. 

Everything didn't hurt so bad anymore, though he was kind of queasy and his head felt funny.

Spot heard voices from the doorway. 

"We are not leaving until someone can figure out what is wrong with my boy." 

Bryan. The man was talking to a doctor, and he looked angry. Even the doctor looked a bit intimidated. 

Hearing Bryan call him  _ my boy  _ made Spot feel unexplainably happy and warm inside. Maybe he was still tripping on whatever drug they'd decided to stick him with. It was probably that. 

Spot continued to eavesdrop, since obviously they didn't know he was awake yet. Bryan was talking to a doctor, but not the quack one that Spot had been forced to see several times recently. 

"Mr. Denton, your son is completely stable now. Really, he will be fine."

Spot stiffened at that. 

_ Your son.  _

"He wasn't  _ fine  _ this morning, and frankly he hasn't been fine for a while now. I don't care what tests you have to run. Run them. I need an explanation, and I need a way to help him."

Bryan and the doctor walked out of the room as they talked, and Spot couldn't hear any more of what was said. Not that he was really paying attention anyway. Bryan hadn't corrected the doctor calling Spot his son. Did that mean he agreed, or just didn't feel like arguing? Did Spot  _ want  _ Bryan to consider him family? 

Nothing made sense, and he was too tired to think through it right now. Spot pulled the blanket up around his shoulders and went back to sleep. 

At some point, they'd tell him what was going on. Bryan wasn't going to leave him in the dark. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, Spotty. :(  
> I promise, things will eventually get better for him. 
> 
> I am going to take some creative liberty in the next few chapters, mainly because if I write it in a super realistic way, it's gonna be super boring with a lot of confusing words and I'll have to fact check lots of stuff. 
> 
> Also because the majority of the tests involve inserting things into the intestine, and let's just say they dont go in through your mouth.   
> So I'm not gonna write about that cuz it's just gross. 
> 
> Instead, we're gonna pretend they can do it all with just x-rays, cuz that doesnt involve a tube going up your you-know-what. 
> 
> And we exaggerate, for 《☆The Drama.☆》


	29. Chapter 29 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spot has the same opinion on colonoscopies that I have : gross
> 
> But like also necessary sometimes unfortunately. But Spot doesnt think like that because he is angry bean and that's why we love him, but its gonna be ok, I promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like I got some comments with suggestions (huge thank you to DenDragon and abrocksmysocks and everyone else who has commented , your comments and stuff mean the world to me) and stuff, and I think I'm gonna try to be a bit more realistic than I'd originally planned, cuz I'm seeing that it wont make people uncomfortable to read about it.
> 
> If y'alls wanna read it, I wanna try to write it!  
> Still gonna add that extra drama tho. What can I say, I'm a drama queen.

“No fucking way.” 

Sean glared at Bryan and the doctor. 

“There is no way in hell I’m letting you do that. _Ever._ ”

David was very uncomfortable. He really felt that he shouldn’t be in the room for this conversation, but they seemed to have forgotten he was there. If he got up to leave, they’d surely notice, and Sean would probably murder him on the spot. Not wanting to die today, David stayed as still and quiet and unnoticeable as possible. 

_I am the invisible boy. Invisiboy. I am not here. I am anywhere but here right now._

Why had Invisiboy’s alter ego, the mild-mannered David Jacobs, decided to come visit Sean in the hospital? For Racetrack, he reminded himself. The boy (the very visible Racetrack) was an absolute mess since hearing about Sean being hospitalized, and his friends were desperate to get him to calm down. Nevermind the fact that Sean hadn’t even been in the hospital for a full day, Racetrack had been desperate for news on his condition. When Racetrack fell in love with somebody, he really fell hard. 

Besides, David had to admit, he was worried about Sean too. The younger boy had obviously been in tremendous pain that morning, and while Bryan had called to make sure David and Sarah could get themselves and Les to school(Not a problem for Invisiboy and his sister), they really didn’t have much news. If Sean was still in the hospital, that meant they didn’t know what was wrong, and that made David uneasy. 

David promised to visit Sean and bring back a personal guarantee of him being alive (Invisiboy’s promise carried great weight among mere mortals), and Racetrack agreed to sit down, eat his lunch, and stop stabbing holes in his math notebook. 

For about five minutes before he started freaking out again. 

Sean was the one freaking out right now, and frankly, David couldn’t blame him. 

“It’s the best way to find out what’s wrong inside you. It’s perfectly safe,” the doctor attempted to placate the boy, but Sean was having none of it. 

“It’s perfectly fucking perverted. You want to stick a tube up my ass and take pictures of the inside of my guts. Absolutely the fuck not.”

David winced before he could stop himself. He wouldn’t want that either. Even a great dude like Invisiboy had to draw the line somewhere. 

“Sean, I promise. It won’t be that bad. You’ll be sedated, and you won’t feel anything.”

“I don’t _care._ I’ll still know. I’m not stupid.”

_Debatable,_ David thought, and immediately felt bad. Sean had every right to be stubborn and hard-headed this time. He was scared, even if he’d never admit it, and understandably so. 

Bryan’s silence made it clear, at least to David, that the decision was already made.(Invisiboy was very perceptive) They were just trying to get Sean to accept it to make things easier for everybody. 

David tried to tune out the conversation, which he felt he really should not be there for. The adults in the room informed Sean that the procedure was scheduled for the next day, information he responded to by grumbling and swearing. 

David should not have come here today. 

_For Racetrack,_ he reminded himself. Not because _David_ was worried. David was not worried. Who was he kidding? David worried about everything. David worried about whether Sean would be okay and he worried about if Racetrack would ever sleep again and he worried about the _extremely awkward_ conversation happening right next to him. 

David chose to ignore the conversation that he didn’t want to listen to by reading through the messages on his phone. He’d only left school an hour ago, and already Racetrack was spamming him with texts.

**Racetrack :** is he ok

David

are you there???

REPLY YOU IDIIOT

Is spot alive

Dave i need to knowww

  
  


**Jack :** Dear lord david please text racer, hes blowing up my phone. 

David smiled at that, sending a response to Racetrack.

He’s fine, Race

Just being a total grouch like normal. Why are you so worried anyway? 

Like i wouldnt tell you if something bad happened

 **Racetrack :** IM SORRY, I think Im allowed to be 

worried about my boyfriend

Your

WHAT?

RACETRACK HIGGINS ANSWER ME

DID YOU START DATING MY FOSTER BROTHER AND NOT TELL ME????

 **Racetrack :** maybe. 

I only kissed him a little bit

besides

He started it

David bit back a laugh. Racetrack and Sean were definitely an odd pair. Racetrack was good-natured and outgoing and thought everything was funny. Sean was snippy and short-tempered and hated everything. The only thing they seemed to have in common was sarcasm and being short, but apparently that was enough. 

David glanced up from his phone when the doctor left the room. It was suffocatingly tense. If it weren’t freezing outside, he would have suggested opening a window. 

Sean was still scowling, and Bryan suddenly seemed to realize that David was sitting there. 

“David!” He looked from David to Sean, clearly feeling awkward about the conversation David had overheard.

“I forgot you were here.” 

David tried to give Bryan at least a half-smile, but the look on Sean’s face made that impossible. He might be small, but Sean was terrifying when he got angry. Even Invisiboy was no match for this compact demon. 

_Enough with the Invisiboy thing._ David told himself. _Time to change the subject._

“So, Sean.” David did his best not to cringe at the scowl he received.

“You and Racetrack… How long has that been a thing?” Sean flushed bright pink, but he looked pleased for the first time all day. 

The childish happiness only lasted half a second before Sean switched back to his usual negativity and grouchiness, plastering the same scowl he always wore back on his face. 

David didn’t miss the quick nervous look Sean shot Bryan in between the smile and the glare, and his father wasn’t blind or stupid. Judging by the expression on his face he probably didn’t miss the glance either. 

Sean knew about David and Jack, so why was he worried? Bryan obviously had no problem with gayness. During the summer, Jack spent more nights at their house than he did at his. Sean must have gotten a lot of shit from somebody to make him worry like that, David realized sadly. Worrying was usually more David’s job.

Right now Sean was nervously chewing at his knuckles, which seemed to be a bit of a habit. He looked almost relieved when the doctor came back with a concerningly large container of some kind of medication.

At least if he was grumbling about taking his meds, Sean looked a lot less jittery. David really hoped he would get more comfortable with their family sooner rather than later. Sean and Racetrack deserved to at least get a chance at their seemingly mismatched relationship. 


	30. Chapter 30 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a bit longer than usual, cause it wasn't enough to be two chapters. 
> 
> I'm getting to the point now where I dont really know where I'm going from one chapter to another, so there might be a bit of a break between chapters while I figure out what the heck is going on in this story.
> 
> I'm having fun though, and writing this is keeping me sane while I cant leave the house.

Apparently, whoever came up with the idea of a colonoscopy had the sole purpose of making it as miserable an experience as possible in mind the entire time. 

Sure, most people forced to undergo that kind of procedure were old and probably bigger than Spot, so drinking a ridiculous amount of liquid to "clear their insides out" would be easier for them, but still. Spot felt sick. He’d been sick all night. They had decided to keep him at the hospital to “make things easier,” but he’d get to go home after the doctors were done with their probing. 

With about ten pounds of the disgusting "medicine" having been forced into him, Spot figured that by his math reasonings, he was approximately ten percent laxative at this point which did  _ not  _ make for a fun night. 

Actually, at this point he was probably zero percent laxative, since it had done its job very well. Spot was fairly certain he must have lost 50% of his body weight last night. That school nurse would faint if she put him on a scale right now. That'd show her  _ severely underweight.  _

Spot thought bitterly that nobody had bothered to  _ ask  _ if he was okay with this. They'd just insisted he "had to" and that it was "for his own good". 

Perverts. 

A nurse came in, handed him the weird hospital gown, and left him alone to put it on. Spot was glad to be alone; he didn't want anyone to watch him change. Though  _ why  _ he was concerned about that right now, he didn't know. Considering what the doctors were going to do soon, it realistically didn't matter, but still. He had some dignity left, and he was gonna cling to that no matter what. 

Spot was starting to freak out. He knew Bryan was in the building, in the waiting area just down the hall. He still felt alone, even when the nurse came back, now joined by the doctor, a balding older man who looked pretty much like one would expect a grown man who enjoyed studying the inside of people’s intestines to look. 

If anything, them being there made Spot feel worse.

“Lay down on your side, sweetie.” The nurse gently guided him to the table-bed thing. Spot wished she would stop talking to him. Stop acting like this was okay. It wasn’t. At least the doctor wasn’t talking. 

He did what she said anyway, gritting his teeth when his leg brushed the cold metal frame. Spot did his best not to watch the doctor getting his equipment in order. He didn’t want to see. Didn’t want to know. 

"Honey, you need to breathe."

The nurse rubbed his shoulder, obviously trying to calm him down. 

"I'm going to give you this IV. It's going to make you feel relaxed and sleepy. A lot of people don't even remember anything afterwards," she sounded calm and encouraging, but Spot didn't believe any of it. He let her stick him with the needle, biting his knuckle to keep from twitching. 

She was sort of right, he was going numb and now it felt like his brain was full of water, which made it hard to focus. He was definitely still aware of what was going on though. 

Entirely too aware. 

Spot hid his face in his arms, waiting for it to all be over. 

God, this was worse than any of the pain. This was so much worse. He couldn't feel anything, so it didn't hurt physically, but  _ fucking hell,  _ this was all so humiliating. 

The doctor kept talking to the nurses in his stupid nasally voice and Spot wanted to kill him. At least he was all business, no cute pet names like the nurse had used. He mostly just acted like Spot wasn’t even there, like he was just a practice dummy. 

Did they use practice dummies for this kind of thing? Imagine being the guy who made those. Spot was having trouble breathing now. He had to stop thinking about it. 

_ Go somewhere else in your head. Pull away. Don’t think, don’t feel.  _

It didn’t make a difference. 

Spot was scared and he couldn’t keep calm, drugs or no drugs to make him relax. 

He wanted to  _ move,  _ to get away from the hands and the tubes and everything else. They wouldn’t let him move. Rubbery hands (of course, they all had gloves on like it was some kind of crime scene) pinned him down again, and then another needle in his arm. 

Spot panicked as he started to fall asleep. 

_ No. No. Stop. Stay awake. Stay awake. _

He couldn't stop them from doing  _ anything _ if he was asleep. He was totally exposed and there was no one here to protect him. Just a room full of strangers in masks and gloves with scary equipment and lights that were too bright. 

So bright. Spot wanted to close his eyes, just for a second. 

_ No! Don’t sleep!  _ He told himself. 

It was no use. He couldn't win this fight.

This time, the darkness wasn’t nearly as comforting. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Spot woke up in a different room once again. How long had he been out? 

“Where’s Bryan?” He growled at the nurse who had apparently drawn the short straw and been forced to deal with him again. 

The nurse handed him his clothes with a patient smile. Apparently she was used to grumpy people who just woke up after being drugged and ass-fucked without their consent.

“You did good, honey. Put these back on and we’ll go see your family.” 

Spot wasn’t entirely sure why anyone was all that concerned about modesty, but he appreciated her leaving anyway. They’d literally shoved a tube up inside him. It didn’t get much more exposed than that. 

He pulled his clothes back on and felt a little less horrible. Still pretty horrible. How did they manage to make his stomach hurt  _ more? _

Spot decided he no longer wanted to wait around for people to do things to him, so he got up, ignoring the dizziness, and left on his own. Luckily, (or maybe not luckily) the nurse was waiting outside the door. She looked slightly surprised to see him out, Spot noted with satisfaction. 

“Ready?” 

Spot glared at her. He had no interest in being chummy with anyone right now, especially not people who knocked him out and stuck tubes inside him. The nurse took his silence as consent, and led him down the hall and into a waiting room that was, thankfully, almost empty. There were maybe three people in the room, not that Spot bothered to count, and one of them was Bryan. 

Spot relaxed a bit immediately upon seeing Bryan, though he was still kind of pissed at the man for letting them do  _ that  _ to him.

“How did it go?” Bryan looked concerned, and Spot was a lot less pissed at that. He sat next to him on the surprisingly squishy couch and hid his face in the man’s side. 

“I still hate you,” he mumbled, fully aware he was not expressing his hatred very well at all. 

“I know, buddy,” Bryan rubbed his shoulder soothingly. “You can hate me all you want.”

The nurse informed them that “everything went smoothly”, which Spot personally disagreed with, not that they asked him, and that he could leave once they were sure he wasn’t going to drop dead from some horrible reaction. 

He stiffened involuntarily when she mentioned coming back once the results were in. Spot didn’t  _ want  _ to come back, ever. Of course, nobody asked what he wanted. 

He forced himself to relax, leaning on Bryan until finally Spot was declared not allergic to the sedatives and they were allowed to leave. 

“Sean, what’s wrong?” Bryan asked, not taking his eyes off the road. 

“Nothing. Everything is fucking  _ peachy.” _

Bryan, not being completely stupid, did not believe him. 

“Sean, I can’t help you if you won’t tell me what’s going on.”

“Help me?” Spot burst out with a harsh laugh. 

“You don’t care how I feel; why should I believe you want to help me? You just keep doing these things and not even asking me how I feel about it! You all really enjoy knocking me out without telling me, don't you? Any time anything happens, I get stabbed with a needle and I wake up somewhere else and somebody’s got their fucking hands all over me.” 

Spot clenched his teeth at the cramping in his stomach. 

Bryan parked the car in the driveway, and Spot moved to get out. 

“Sean, please wait.” 

But he didn’t lock the door. Spot could just leave if he wanted. But he waited. 

Bryan sighed. 

“You’re right, and I’m sorry.” Spot stared at him, surprised, as he continued.

“I should never have forced you to go through that without asking how you felt. I do still think it was the best option, but we definitely should not have sprung that on you so suddenly. I’m sorry,” he finished. 

“It’s… fine,”Spot managed to get out. “I just don’t like being shoved around and not getting a say in any of it,” he said, barely above a whisper. 

Finally, Bryan looked like he understood. 

“Sean, I promise you, whatever happens, whatever they find with all the scans and everything, I will not make any decisions without you. Alright?” Spot nodded slowly, and Bryan gave him a little smile. 

This whole situation still sucked, but maybe it would suck a little bit less from now on. 


	31. Chapter 31 (Spot & David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tw mention of panic attack
> 
> Fun fact, my brother did in fact do the same thing to a teacher that Spot did in this chapter, but my brother has a girlfriend, not a boyfriend.

As far as Spot was concerned, marching band could hurry up and end. 

Sitting in his Advanced Literature class and purposely ignoring everything the substitute teacher said, Spot thought about everything that was annoying him about band right now. Thinking about things he hated had been his favorite hobby only a few months ago, but lately it hadn’t been as frequent of a habit. 

Right now though, Spot was in a bad mood, and he felt like making it worse. Lisa, his therapist, would probably have called that an “unhealthy behavior,” but what did she know? Well, she did know lots of things that he hadn’t meant to tell her, but that was irrelevant. 

Spot rolled his pencil up and down his desk and wished he could find it in himself to hate Lisa. She was unfortunately a fairly decent person, and he always found himself telling her stuff he didn’t want to tell people. 

Just yesterday, she’d somehow gotten him to admit to being angry at Bryan for ignoring his feelings about the whole doctor thing. 

There was just so  _ much  _ to deal with right now, Spot thought irritably. Doctors and therapists and marching band and having to talk to people. 

Spot was tired and usually in pain, and in general just ready to be done. Everyone else in the band, specifically the director, was determined to have one last push until the end. Spot was pretty sure they were about as good as they were going to get, considering they had two days until their last competition for the year, and for the seniors, their last competition ever. 

In addition to Spot personally feeling very shitty physically, everyone around him was all emotional about the season ending. He didn’t really see the big deal. It wasn’t like people died when they had to leave band, or at least he assumed they didn’t.

Crutchie had forced Spot to follow his predecessor on all forms of social media, and she seemed very much alive and very much like someone Mush would like, considering she posted with a million emojis and everything was pastel colors. 

She also apparently considered stickers to be a vital organizational tool, if the sound system’s decorations were anything to go by. 

Maybe Spot would be more emotional about the season ending if he actually talked to any of the seniors. 

He pretty much only talked to Racetrack or Crutchie, at least on purpose. Mush was unavoidable, but becoming less annoying. (Less annoying? Was Spot going insane? Probably. Oh well.)

As far as Spot was concerned, the only senior who really existed was Tommy from the pit, who was cool enough, but Spot wasn't exactly going to be distraught when he graduated. 

They had one last competition, Grand Nationals, which frankly sounded like absolute hell. They had no idea what time they'd be getting home at, and probably would be there all day. 

And it was  _ cold.  _ Always cold. Spot was not looking forward to rehearsal that afternoon. 

But he had Racetrack, so maybe things didn't have to be completely awful. 

Spot smiled, thinking about how happy Racetrack had been to see him this morning. It was nice having someone who missed him, who worried about him. 

He pulled out his phone, not particularly discreetly because he didn’t care, and was surprised to see a text from Racetrack. Racetrack usually kept his phone put away, like a  _ responsible  _ person. Ew. Responsible. 

**Racetrack :** help

Spot frowned and sent a response.

What’s wrong?

Do you need me to come to you?

**Racetrack :** ill be fine just anxious and stuff, panicky etc. 

I’m just in english so i can just leave, idc about this class, you need me?

“Mr. Conlon,” The substitute interrupted. The fact that she knew his name made him suspicious. Had the normal teacher told her to be careful of him? Probably. He didn’t really cause trouble in this class though, mostly he just ignored everyone and read whatever book was assigned. 

She was still talking, he realized.

“I’d appreciate it if you would put the phone away.”

Spot tried his best to look like a cheerful, obedient kid. 

“Sorry, miss. My boyfriend’s just going through some stuff right now, and he needs to talk to somebody.” He managed an awkward half-smile, but really he just wanted to tell her to shove it. 

“I’m sure your friend can wait. Do your assignment.”

Spot dropped the fake compliance immediately.

“Boyfriend. And I don’t know who your husband is, but if he puts anything before you, he’s a twat.”

Well that certainly turned her face an amusing shade of red. Surprisingly, she didn’t actually do anything about a student calling her husband a twat, which Spot was almost disappointed about. 

He turned back to his phone and continued texting Racetrack. Spot knew what it was like to freak out over nothing, and no way was he going to let his boyfriend go through that kind of thing alone. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

As far as David was concerned, the marching band season could hurry up and end. He was  _ tired.  _ Sure, he liked band well enough, but it was the very end of the season, and he knew he wasn’t the only one who wanted it to just be done.

Of course, he would miss the seniors when they graduated, but graduation wasn’t until spring. There was plenty of time to be sad in between then and now. 

David really enjoyed concert band, which came after the marching season. This was mainly because everything, while still louder than he would like, was much less chaotic. David missed spending time with Les, and he was really looking forward to going back to work. 

David really liked his job. He worked in a little stand-alone used bookstore, which was always quiet and had a pair of fluffy old cats who wandered freely around the store. 

Best of all, the shop owner, Warren, didn’t care that David was “weird” about things. 

It would definitely be nice to go back. 

David looked up from his Literature assignment when he heard Sean’s voice. 

“I don’t know who your husband is, but if he puts anything before you, he’s a twat.”

David, along with everyone else who heard it, felt his jaw drop. 

Was Sean a total idiot? You  _ did not  _ talk to teachers like that.  _ Ever.  _ Though, in all honesty, it was kind of a compliment to Mrs. Brynn, an older woman who was everyone’s least favorite substitute. Definitely the closest thing she was going to get to a compliment from a student. 

Apparently, Mrs. Brynn didn’t want to deal with Sean, because she didn’t react much at all, aside from turning purple. David was impressed. Sean was seriously lucky.

David wished he had the guts to talk like that. Sean was impressive.


	32. Chapter 32 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : I was very young when I got diagnosed, so frankly my memories of the process are a bit foggy. I did do some research though. 
> 
> "Why are there videos about colons coming up in the youtube suggestions?" - My mom, who just wanted to help my sister put on a minecraft letsplay.
> 
> TW : Hospitals

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic has really been helping me with understanding my own condition, so I'm really glad I started writing it!
> 
> Before, I just kinda ate stuff that didn't make me sick and went to the doctor occasionally, and now I'm learning and understanding WHY I feel how I do, and it's really interesting! Also intestines look like worms.

Everything still sucked, Spot decided. And it would probably continue to suck for the foreseeable future. 

Apparently, even after shoving a tube up his ass and taking pictures, the doctors still weren't one hundred percent certain about what was wrong. 

This meant  _ more  _ fun tests and more prodding doctors and missing a full day of school, which of course he would have to make up. Wonderful.

Doctor's offices, Spot decided, smelled like being bored and in pain. 

The doctor, who Spot was fairly certain wasn't a vampire, but in fact just a psychopath, explained the next set of tests they wanted to run to Bryan and Spot, who  did not like what he heard.  _ Why  _ were these perverts so dead set on shoving things up inside him? 

Spot imagined the man going home to his wife every day.

"Hey honey, how was your day?" "Great, dear. Got to shove a rubber tube up some kids ass. Loads of fun."

Only wackos became doctors, and they should all be institutionalized or arrested. 

Dr. Pervert was talking again, unfortunately. This guy really seemed to like the sound of his own voice, Spot thought irritably. 

“Procedure-wise, it’s really quite similar to the colonoscopy. Liquid barium is essentially injected, though it’s not painful, I promise, into the rectum and colon, and then we’re able to take clearer X-rays. Now, to prepare for-”

"No." Spot snapped. The doctor looked flustered by the interruption, opening his mouth and shaking his head in a way reminiscent of a cartoon chicken. 

"What?"

"I said  _ no.  _ I'm not letting you do that. Not again."

Spot glared at the two men stubbornly. 

The doctor gave Bryan a look, and Spot felt his stomach flip. He didn’t like that look. He didn’t trust that look. 

Bryan had promised. He said they wouldn't do anything Spot wasn't okay with. Would he lie? Probably. Everyone lied. Why would Bryan be the exception?

Spot bit his lip, doing his best to look angry and hide how nervous he was. 

“Sean…”

Bryan rubbed his forehead, obviously frustrated. Spot told himself not to back down. 

"Is there any other way to run this kind of test? Something less…invasive?"

"Well, it's possible that ingesting it orally would be enough for the scans," he said, looking somewhat irritated that Bryan wasn't siding with him this time. 

Bryan looked at Spot for approval. He shrugged.

"I guess that would be okay." 

He tried to look unconcerned, but inside, Spot was more grateful for Bryan than ever. He could breathe now. It hadn’t been a lie. Bryan  _ did _ give a fuck. Things would be okay. 

Before he knew what was happening, people were bustling him out and into yet another different room.

Apparently, they were doing this right now. Lovely. 

At least this time Bryan was there, and he got to keep his own clothes on. 

Whoever decided to call the liquid barium banana flavored had obviously never tried a banana before. Or they thought they had, but in reality they'd bitten into a piece of yellow chalk. 

Spot tried not to gag, and through pure stubbornness alone, managed to get all of the nasty drink down. He felt a twinge in his stomach when they had him lay down on the bed cart thing again. Nothing good had ever happened when he was here. 

And then Bryan started to leave, and Spot started to panic.  Why was Bryan leaving? He didn’t want to be alone. Not here. Not again. 

“Bryan?” He hated how pathetic his voice sounded. The man turned back.

“Do you want me to stay?” Spot gave a tiny nod, and Bryan was handed a bulky apron. He put it on and stood next to Spot. The man gently took hold of one of Spot’s hands, and Spot suddenly realized that his were shaking. 

He blinked rapidly, determined not to cry. 

“Hey,” Bryan’s voice was soft, soothing. “It’s okay. It’s gonna be fine.”

He brushed Spot’s shaggy hair from his eyes, and Spot shuddered in a breath, trying to calm himself. 

Thankfully, Bryan was able to stay by his side the entire time. Spot didn’t think he would have been able to handle it otherwise. The machines made weird noises and there were bright lights and it was in general a terrifying experience. He focused on Bryan’s warm hand. The hand didn’t move or pull away, even though he squeezed it tight when the x-ray machine moved along his body, like some kind of predatory animal. 

Spot was painfully aware of how incredibly stupid he must look, clutching daddy’s hand like some little kid. But he still didn’t want to let go. 

He nearly jumped out of his skin when the doctor’s stupid voice came through a speaker somewhere in the room. 

“We need him to stay still, or the images won’t be clear. Dad, either you need to hold him, or we can have a nurse do it.” 

Spot was already on edge, so after a mild heart attack, he was entirely too shaken up to complain about Bryan being called his dad. 

It would be nice if they  _ told  _ him that the room had speakers. How many patients had gone into cardiac arrest from the shock of hearing a disembodied voice without any warning? Probably a lot. 

Bryan gripped Spot’s shoulders firmly, but strangely, it was almost comforting rather than restricting. Spot didn’t feel like thinking about that right now. 

He just focused on relaxing and waited for it to be over. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

Gastroduodenal Crohns Disease.

If you wrote it out in normal lettering, it would probably take up more space than Spot Conlon was tall. Not that he was short or anything. It was just a long title for the condition that he was apparently going to have to deal with for the rest of his life. 

Absolutely fucking  _ wonderful. _

The diagnosis did bring up two questions. Question one, who was it that came up with the stupid medical names that took a year to say, and question two, why were they bothering with talking about it anymore if there was nothing these doctors could do about it?

Spot was more interested in the answer to the second question, seeing as he really wanted to go home and lock himself in his room. Unfortunately but not surprisingly, Doctor Incompetant had apparently decided that he wanted to put Spot through even more torture. 

"It's unfortunately gone untreated for quite a while now. Sean needs surgery, and the sooner the better." 

He referenced the scans that Spot didn't understand, pointing out several damaged areas.

The next horrible procedure they wanted to force him to suffer through was called a strictureplasty, which sounded _very_ _fun,_ and the doctor assured them that it was very low-risk. Basically, Spot’s intestines were scarred and infected in a bunch of different places, and they had to cut them open and fix them somehow.

_ Lovely.  _

Apparently years of “neglecting your physical health” would do that to a guy. Spot didn’t like how the doctor was acting like it was  _ his  _ fault somehow. He didn’t get to decide if foster parents took him to the doctor. Most of them didn’t care, and he knew they didn’t care, so he didn’t bother telling them. 

Medical neglect or not, none of that really explained why he'd woken up a few days before feeling like he'd been set on fire when it had never been that bad before, and low risk or not, Spot didn't like the idea of surgery. He'd still have to be unconscious and have someone cut him open with a knife. He was spending a lot of time unconscious lately, and he did not like it one bit. 

“You’ll be staying after for observation for a few days, just to be sure everything is healing as it should. Like I said earlier, this is a very safe procedure, but what with Sean being so underweight, we’ll want to be certain there are no complications before sending him home.” 

_ Wonderful. More time in this stupid place. _

Now the doctor was talking to Bryan, explaining all the different ways Spot might die or something, following each up with the assurance that it was “statistically very unlikely”. Somehow that did not make him feel better. 

Bryan was asking questions, but Spot couldn't focus. 

Everything was changing so fast. Before, people didn't care if he ate or not. Now, they cared not only if he ate, but what, and when, and how he felt after. 

Now people were poking and prodding at him constantly, pricking with needles and testing things he hadn't known could be tested. 

He snapped back to attention when he realized they were talking directly to him. 

“Can we talk in private?” Bryan asked. The doctor nodded and left them alone.

Bryan looked sadly at Spot, who suddenly felt very small. 

“It’s your choice, kiddo. I know it’s not much of one,” he admitted, “sounds like this surgery is the only real option. But I won’t let them do anything if you’re not ready for it.” 

Spot rubbed his scabbed knuckle across his lips. He wasn't supposed to chew on his fingers anymore (apparently “destructive habits” were frowned upon), but the roughness helped calm him down a little. 

"I don't  _ want _ to do it," Spot admitted. 

"But it's not like there's really anything else we can do, is there?"

He really wished Bryan could say there was another way, that he didn’t have to be sliced open and stitched back up. 

But there wasn’t another way, and they both knew it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is going to be either from Spot's perspective or Bryan's, so if you have a preference, let me know  
> :)


	33. Chapter 33 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sprace fluff was requested and I am always happy to oblige.

Spot wondered if they made the chairs in the doctor’s office ugly and uncomfortable on purpose, or if it was to hide the vomit stains that were probably all over them. Best not to think about that. 

He was tired, and really wanted to go home, but apparently it was absolutely necessary that they go through an explanation of the entire procedure that he would have to be put through. 

The doctor’s voice was really starting to get on Spot’s nerves. 

“It'll be done under general anaesthetics. Sean, you'll fall asleep, and when you wake up, the surgery will be over.”

That would be good, Spot thought. Well, not  _ good.  _ He didn’t like being drugged and put to sleep, but it was better than being awake for it. 

The conversation turned to recovery time after the surgery, which brought another thought into Spot’s head.

“What about band? Will I be able to go to the competition on Saturday? It’s Grand Nationals,” he explained. “I run the sound systems.”

_ And the whole show would suck without me there.  _ That thought brought a little surge of pride.  __

“We can schedule the procedure for after,” the doctor assured him. 

“It will take some time to get all the paperwork in order, what with you needing to contact his social worker before we can move forward.” The last part was directed more at Bryan, but Spot still winced at the reminder that Jonathan existed. He’d almost been able to forget about the incredibly annoying man who represented everything that made Spot a fucked up mess of a person. 

He tuned out the rest of the conversation, which had more to do with legal issues and other stuff Spot didn’t want to think or hear about. 

He pulled out his phone to text Racetrack. 

  
  


Officially not dying 

Yet

  
  


**Racetrack :** WHAT

are you going to be dying soon??

Spottt???

No dying!!!!

Illegal!

  
  


Dont worry, not dying. Just now they wanna slice me open for fun

**Racetrack :** Tell your doctor Racetrack Higgins says he'll kill him

if he causes any harm to his boyfriend. 

<3

Spot smiled at that. Racetrack was a really great guy. It was nice to have someone like him. No, not  _ like him.  _ It was nice to have  _ him  _ specifically. 

**Racetrack:** Hey question

My mom is a mind reader and found out about us

And now she wants you to come over and meet the fam

There's usually like a million of us but like if you can come over tomorrow 

it'll just be me my grandma and my little sister

Also the dog

None of that was a question but I'll ask Bryan about it once we're done here

**Racetrack:** Kk, here's my adfrdnsnu for if he says yes

*address

Spot put his phone away, still smiling. Racetrack Higgins was the greatest thing to ever happen to him. 

\------------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------------

“Racetrack Higgins, you are the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to me, and I lived with a family of vegans for three months.”

Spot’s declaration made Racetrack laugh, the best sound he’d ever heard.

“Race. Track. Call off your dog or I am leaving immediately.” Spot glared at his boyfriend from the top of the granite counter. He was not in the mood to be mauled by a ravenous dog, no matter how much Racetrack insisted it was friendly. 

“You can’t leave,” Racetrack grinned. 

“Bagel won’t let you.”

“Anthony!” Spot twisted, nearly falling and being devoured by a vicious beast, to see an elderly woman dressed in an impressively purple outfit smiling in amusement. 

“Help your guest off the counter, you know better! Be a good host.” 

“Sorry Nonna,” Racetrack smirked. “He’s afraid of dogs.”

“I am not!” Spot snapped indignantly. “That thing is just _ vicious.”  _

The vicious beast in question thumped its tail happily against the counter, drooling up at Spot with a dopey look on its face. Okay, maybe calling him a beast was a bit of a stretch. 

“Bagel, dear, come with me,” the woman, who Spot assumed was Racetrack’s grandmother, cooed to the dog. The tubby brown animal trotted cheerfully to her side, and Spot decided that Racetrack’s grandmother was an amazing woman. 

Racetrack offered Spot a hand off the counter, which was swatted away in playful irritation. 

“Sorry Spotty. But ya gotta admit, seeing you vault onto the counter because of a  _ beagle  _ was pretty funny.”

Spot scoffed. “I will admit no such thing, and you’re an ass- uh, jerk.” He narrowly avoided swearing in front of Racetrack’s grandmother, who chuckled. Spot thought he might start to like her, given the chance. 

“Anthony, dear, introduce me to your friend.” She gave Spot a friendly smile, still scratching behind Bagel’s floppy brown ears. 

“Nonna, this is my boyfriend, Sean Conlon. We all call him Spot. Spot, this is my Nonna Altiere, my favorite member of the family.”

She offered a hand, which Spot shook. 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Altiere.” The formality felt foreign in Spot’s mouth, and he hoped it didn’t sound as awkward as he thought it did. 

She waved him off. “Oh, you can just call me Nonna, I don’t mind.” 

“Sure…” 

He absolutely was not going to do that. 

She laughed at that, and Spot felt himself starting to like her more and more. 

“Nonna, do you care if we put on a movie or something?” 

Spot was glad to hear they were planning on doing something besides standing around the kitchen. It was awkward, and also his legs hurt and he needed to sit down. Weirdly enough, that was apparently a crohns disease thing. What his legs had to do with his stomach, Spot had no idea. 

Spot sat on the couch in the Higgins’ living room, feeling weird and out of place. It was surprisingly clean, considering Racetrack apparently had about a million siblings, though considering who his mother was, maybe it wasn’t so surprising. Mrs. Higgins was like a force of nature when it came to keeping the band organized, and Spot couldn’t imagine living in the same house with her. 

As Racetrack scrolled through the TV screen trying to decide on a movie, Spot wondered if he was supposed to hold his hand or something. Did he want to? He kind of wanted to. Was that allowed?

Spot was not good at this kind of thing. 

Spot was still deciding what to do when Racetrack turned on Star Wars and decided for him, flopping against his side, practically on Spot’s lap. 

Spot stiffened in surprise, and Racetrack sat up, concerned. 

“Sorry, was that not okay?”

“No, no, it was fine. Just surprised me.” Spot assured him. It really was fine, he just wasn’t used to people being that affectionate with him that fast. 

Admittedly, physical affection with Spot could be like being cuddly with a cactus, and he knew it. But with Racetrack, he wanted things to be different. 

Racetrack leaned back onto Spot, sighing contentedly. 

Spot had never actually seen the Star Wars prequels(“I  _ only  _ tolerate them right now because Nonna, being a smart woman, hates them, and I want privacy”), and considering what his former boyfriend, Ryan, had said about them, was surprised to find that they weren’t  _ total  _ garbage. 

_ “ _ Jar Jar is you,” he said, trying to work up the nerve to lean closer to Racetrack. 

“This relationship is over, get out of my house,” Racetrack replied, still leaning on Spot in a way that seemed suspiciously not-broken up.

_  
_ Spot smiled and stifled a yawn. Racetrack noticed, of course, and shifted, moving himself and Spot so they were both half laying down. 

Spot thought absently that he should probably be uncomfortable with how close they were. Racetrack was practically on top of him, and they’d only been dating a few days. 

With anyone else, it would have been weird, but with Racetrack, it felt… right. 

Spot had a lot of things to stress about lately, but at that moment, the only real thing was Racetrack’s warm body and the soapy smell of his soft hair. And that sure wasn’t something that stressed Spot out, not in any way. 


	34. Chapter 34 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This may feel like an ending, but I assure you, it is not. 
> 
> Gonna be mean to Spot for the next few chapters tho. Sorry. 
> 
> Warning for some suggestive language but like nothing too bad or explicit or anything. 
> 
> Wrote this chapter while watching Sister Act, which just cemented my belief that 1992 was the absolute PEAK of moviemaking.  
> Newsies and Sister Act. The 2 greatest movies of all time.

Grand Nationals.

One last competition, and then they were done. Spot was a weird mixture of relieved and sad to be finished with the season.

On the one hand, he'd have a lot more free time after today, and spending less time in the freezing cold was always a plus. 

On the other hand, though Spot hated to admit it, he'd gotten very used to the sometimes slightly chaotic rhythm of marching band. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with himself when all his time wasn't filled with band stuff. 

Of course, one option was Racetrack. No, he wasn't going to DO Racetrack, he meant spend time with Racetrack. No way were they at the "doing it" stage in their relationship. Not yet, and not for a good while.

Spot was quite content for their relationship to stay just like this, thank you very much. This was very nice. Not too committed. Not too serious. Totally. Spot was not at all attached. Nope. 

Not even as they cuddled in the same seat on the bus, Racetrack taking up significantly more than his fair share. Not that Spot was in any way complaining. Apparently short and stocky Italian teens make for very nice blankets. (In addition to one's favorite yellow one, of course. No such thing as too many blankets.)

Having just woken up after sleeping most of the ride, Spot really wanted to stretch, but Racetrack was kind of on top of him. He wasn't going to wake up his boyfriend, no matter how stiff his old grandma joints felt. 

While Racetrack appeared able to sleep through a hurricane, there was one thing he couldn't sleep through, and that was apparently the bus stopping. 

He blinked in an adorably sleepy way, shifting into a more upright position.

"Whas goinon? 'Rwe here?" 

God, he was cute. Spot smiled. 

"We're here. Time to wake up, babe."

"Babe?" Racetrack grinned cheekily. 

Spot half shoved him off the bench, but he couldn't hold back a smile. 

"There a problem with that?"

"No, no problem,  _ babe." _

Spot leaned forward and kissed Racetrack on the nose. 

Man, he had it bad for Racetrack, he realized. But then again, was that such a problem? 

No, no it was not. 

  
\----------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-----------

As the sound tech, Spot spent the vast majority of warm-ups doing absolutely nothing. This gave him plenty of time to notice his stomach hurting like hell and check his equipment about a million times. How embarrassing would that be if the preshow sound recording didn't play because the computer was  _ buffering? _

After standing around for about a century, they would suddenly be rushed to some other area of the building, only to stand around some more. 

"Hurry up and wait", was how Crutchie described it. 

Spot described it as fucking annoying, which got him a stern glare from a few of the pit dads. 

After about a million loud, chaotic, stressful years, they were finally in the tunnel entrance, about to go out on the field. 

Spot was almost willing to admit, he was excited. The band before them swirled and marched and blared impressively. Based on Spot's very limited understanding of how band scoring worked, they looked good. 

His heart thudded, but not in a bad way. Nervous, but an excited kind of nervous. Spot double and triple and one millionth-le checked all the sound equipment. 

"Hey Spot, ya ready?" Crutchie gave Spot an encouraging smile, which he was surprised to find himself returning. 

The largely inaudible voice over the speaker announced their band, and Spot hurried to get his equipment onto the field. The squishy turf made moving anything on wheels difficult, and the shoes that always slipped didn't do much to help. 

Still, they managed to get into position with time to spare. One of the advantages of having a fairly small band. 

Spot waited until the nod from an official, and with one simple click, he started the preshow. 

In that moment, time seemed to both stop and speed up at the same time. 

There was no outside world. Just swirling sounds and pushing buttons and flicking switches. 

_ Fuck yes, revolution. Overthrow society, eat the rich. Wait, no. Excessive emotions.  _

Maybe he was just a tiny bit too into this. Spot grinned, ignoring the sting of sweat and hairspray trickling into his eyes. Why was he sweating? He didn't move  _ that  _ much, did he?

Almost too soon, it was over. Spot was breathless and happy. They made their way off the field in a rush, high on adrenaline and the thrill of performing. 

He hadn't expected to enjoy band so much. It had just kind of… happened. Just like everything else kind of happened, he thought, not sure if he wanted to ponder that too much. 

No, better to focus on easy things. Real things. 

Spot shook the troublesome thoughts out of his head and let himself smile. 

The concrete tunnels were filled by the hooting and yelling of a group of excited teens both pumped up and ready to drop from exhaustion. Spot didn't join in on the shrieking and general ruckus of the entire band being emotional, but he felt it. It felt good. And sad. 

Why was he sad? 

Emotions were confusing. 

The chill of the night air was a welcome relief from the hot stuffy tunnels, and Spot found himself smiling still as he moved his equipment into the van. If he wasn't careful, the expression would stick and he'd start to get a reputation as a cheerful and upbeat person. 

Wouldn't want that. 

And yet, as soon as he saw Racetrack, shining with sweat and positively  _ glowing, _ his smile widened. 

So what if he looked happy for two seconds?

Sure, people might drop dead from surprise, but that wasn't Spot's problem. 

No, Spot's one very embarrassing problem was this very tight uniform that made it  _ painfully obvious  _ that he was happy to see Racetrack. 

_ That  _ didn't usually happen to him. Ever, to be exact. Awkward and embarrassing, and luckily everyone was too busy crying and hugging to pay any attention to Spot and his issue. 

Racetrack laughed, and Spot couldn't help himself. He practically jumped off the trailer ramp and made his way to the beautiful, shimmery, sweaty boy. 

His boy.  _ His.  _

Racetrack was perfect. Perfect hair and perfect eyes and perfect lips. Perfect. So perfect. 

"I love you," Spot whispered. He froze as soon as the words were out. Wasn't it too early for that? Fuck, what if it scared Racetrack away? 

Spot  _ never  _ showed his feelings like that.  _ Never.  _ He'd rather die. Well, maybe he  _ was  _ dead. Was this death? 

He started to pull away. He'd fucked up. Fucked up bad. 

"I-uh, fuck, sorry. I shouldn't have-"

He's stammered apology was interrupted by Racetrack's lips on his. 

"I love you too," he breathed. Spot could have melted right there. 

No PDA in uniform? Well, Spot had never been very good at following the rules.


	35. Chapter 35 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer : idk how the law works and I dont care to do research. 
> 
> Also thank you to anyone who has ever commented on this fic, because it gives me a will to continue writing! 
> 
> Still not sure entirely where I'm going with this story, but to quote anny middle aged suburban dad on a family road trip, "we'll get there when we get there!"
> 
> :)

Spot stroked Jenny's fuzzy ears absently, trying not to disturb the sleepy cat. Having an entire volleyball team's worth of offspring to care for was apparently tiring, even if said offspring was a bunch of kittens. 

He heard a car in the street and jumped, waking Jenny abruptly and scaring the little cat from his lap. 

It was nothing, he told himself. Cars drove by all the time. It was fine. 

Spot was on edge, and there was no use denying it. He didn't like having Jonathan talk to his foster parents, whether he liked them or not. (Usually not)

Jonathan was always weird and asked prying questions. Spot knew it was technically his job to ask them, but it wasn't like the man cared about the answers.

"Are you happy here? Do you feel safe? Getting along with your siblings?" 

And it never mattered if Spot said he hated something, said he  _ didn't _ feel safe or happy. Nothing would change unless Jonathan wanted it to. 

Right now, Spot found himself worrying that Jonathan would want things to change this time. 

He'd sounded weird on the phone. Well, weirder than usual. 

A car crunched into the driveway. Jonathan. 

Spot scrambled off the chair and into the kitchen.

"He's here." Spot tried to keep the nervousness out of his voice. It worked, kind of. 

Bryan got up from his desk with an encouraging smile. 

"It's going to be fine, Sean. Just routine stuff." 

_ Then why did you send the others out for the day?  _

Spot wasn't stupid, and he'd been through this before. Routine checks on his "wellness" always involved talking to foster siblings too. If they weren't there, something was different. 

He didn't like not knowing what. 

\-----------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-----------

"Hello, Sean. How are things?" Sitting at the kitchen table, Jonathan looked and sounded as stiff and uncomfortable as ever. 

"Things are good. Why the fuck are you here?"

Jonathan frowned at that.

"Sean…" Bryan sighed, and Spot felt bad. 

He had to pretend to be cheery and rehabilitated if he wanted to stay here. 

Spot could fake it for an hour or so. 

"If you don't mind, I'd like to talk to Sean in private." Bryan nodded, and Spot did his best not to say anything snippy. He hated doing this. Jonathan sucked and Spot hated him. 

They wound up in his room with the door shut. Bryan was downstairs, so shutting the door seemed a bit excessive. 

"Well, are you happy here, Sean?"

Spot had been expecting that question, so he had an answer ready. 

"Sure. I joined band and it was okay. The season's over now though."

"Making friends?"

"Yeah."

Then Jonathan got to the point. 

"And how about these new medical issues? How do you feel about those?"

"Fucking  _ peachy." _ Spot said sarcastically. 

"They shove a tube up my ass and tell me now they have to cut me open. Loved it." 

He scowled, realizing he wasn't doing a very good job acting cheerful. 

_ Think of something good.  _

"The doctor wanted to do it again but Bryan wouldn't let them." 

"He wouldn't let the doctors perform a medical procedure?"

_ Shit. Say it that way and it sounds bad.  _

Spot shifted uncomfortably. "He promised if I didn't want to I didn't have to," he explained. Jonathan still looked concerned. 

"Alright. Well, I still have some things to discuss with Bryan in private, okay?" Spot nodded, relieved to be done. 

He let Jonathan leave first, then waited a moment before following. Voices came from the office. Hopefully the "door" would be shut and he'd be able to listen without them knowing. 

Spot slipped quietly into the kitchen to eavesdrop. They were talking about him, so it was stupid that he wasn't being included. 

Spot did not like what he heard. 

"Well, I won't deny that he seems fairly happy here, but really, I think it would be best for Sean to be moved to a home specialized in cases like these."

_ No. No no no. Things were just getting okay here. _

Spot didn't want to move again. 

"Cases like  _ what  _ exactly?"

"Chronic or severe medical issues, Bryan. You know Sean will be experiencing these issues for his entire life. He needs a family equipped to deal with them."

Bryan's voice changed just a bit there. Became harder, sharper. 

"Hmm. And what if Les starts developing symptoms of a similar condition as he gets older? It’s certainly not uncommon. What then? Will you be moving  _ him  _ then?" 

"Bryan, that's really not the same -"

Bryan interrupted. 

"And what about David? He hadn't been diagnosed when he came to stay with me, but you weren't clamoring to take him away once he was. Why, exactly, is Sean different?"

"Bryan, the difference is that you had already adopted them by that point! They weren’t going to break up a family for no reason!”

Spot could practically  _ hear _ Jonathan doing that stupid thing with his hands that he did whenever he got flustered. 

"Well, if it comes to it, I will be starting the process of adoption.” Spot was sure his heart had stopped. Surely Bryan didn’t mean that? He just wanted to convince Jonathan. There was no way… 

Spot snapped back to reality and continued eavesdropping. Jonathan was really flustered now. 

“Bryan, this really isn’t my decision to make. If the court wants him moved, he will be moved. It’s really not in your power or mine. I can simply report what has happened and we will make the decision that we believe is best for the boy.”

“You're correct that it isn't in my power to prevent you from taking him, but I can assure you I will do everything that there is to be done. You want to take a frightened child whose already unstable world has been turned upside down into a completely new situation when he was just getting settled here. I may not be able to stop you, but will not let myself look back on this knowing I stood by and just let it happen." 

It was almost funny how… scholarly Bryan sounded when he argued. He sounded like he was giving a speech. A speech that Spot was having a lot of trouble focusing on right now. 

“Bryan, we had our doubts about placing him here in the first place. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate you taking him, and he does seem to be doing well, but we both knew you probably didn’t have the experience to handle a boy with such extensive behavior issues.”

Spot knew this family had kind of been his last chance. This or an institution for fuckups like him. He knew that. But knowing it already didn't make it any easier to hear. 

“His  _ issues  _ are almost all due to a lack of consistency and, to put it simply, fear. How, exactly, is moving him  _ again _ going to do anything but push him back?”

Spot bristled at that. He wasn't  _ scared.  _ Bryan needed to learn that some people, such as Spot, were just assholes. 

To be fair, Spot  _ had  _ been acting kind of soft lately.

"I'll be in touch, Bryan. You know I just want what's best for him."

Shit, sounded like Jonathan was getting ready to leave. 

Spot scrambled into the living room and curled up on the couch, pretending to read. 

"See you soon, Sean," Jonathan called as he walked out the door. Spot grunted in reply. As soon as Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, he went back to the kitchen.

He had to ask Bryan. He had to know. 

Bryan looked exhausted. He sat at his desk, staring blankly at the photo of Spot. That made Spot kind of uncomfortable. 

He didn't really know what to think about that, so he settled for not thinking. 

“Bryan.” 

The man jumped, and Spot surprised himself with how hoarse his voice sounded. 

“Hey, kiddo.” He looked tired.

“How much of that did you hear, exactly?”

“Did you mean it?” Spot asked, ignoring Bryan's question. 

“Did I mean what?”

“About...” suddenly he was afraid to ask. Afraid of what the answer might be. Spot didn't know if he could handle rejection like that.

His voice came out painfully small. “Adopting me?” 

He stared intently at the floor. 

“Oh, Sean…” 

Of course he hadn’t meant it. Why would he want Spot? He’d only ever caused him headaches and trouble. Nobody would want that. They never would. He'd get shoved around until he was too old and then he'd be alone. 

It was fine, he told himself. He liked being alone. People weren't worth the trouble. All they ever did was hurt you and pretend like they cared and then leave and then… 

Spot realized he was crying, and wiped the tears away furiously. He wasn't upset. He wasn't. 

And then suddenly Bryan was hugging him tight, like he never wanted to let go, and Spot let him. He leaned into the warmth, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. 

“Sean? Look at me.”

Bryan’s warm brown eyes were serious now, and he clutched Spot’s shoulders firmly. 

“There is  _ nothing  _ I want more than to make you a part of our family. Nothing.” He gave the boy a little shake.

Spot buried his face in Bryan’s shirt and let the tears flow freely. 

God, he'd been crying a lot since he got here. Was that what family meant? 

If it was, Spot still thought it might be worth it. 


	36. Chapter 36 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My attempt at a cliffhanger. 
> 
> TW for talking about/describing hospitals and hospitalization
> 
> Almost all my chapters lately have been from Spot's perspective and imma be honest that probably wont change any time soon.
> 
> I'm very lucky to have not needed surgery yet for my crohns disease, so a lot of details here are from research rather than personal experience. 
> 
> 90% of all people with crohns disease need surgery at some point, so I'll probably have to in the future unfortunately.

Spot couldn't decide which was worse, going to the hospital in an emergency and feeling like you'd just recently been set on fire, or going to the hospital for a scheduled visit and knowing you were going to be sliced open. 

Both were generally kind of stressful situations, but in the second one, he really had time to  _ think  _ about what was going to happen.

At least this time he had a shirt on. A small step up from the first trip. 

The closer they got to the hospital, the more nervous Spot became. He really did not want to do this. 

The surgery wasn't even scheduled for that day, they just wanted to be sure everything about him was ready. Meaning he got to spend a full day in the hospital, waiting to be drugged and cut open and have a near stranger's probing hands not only  _ on  _ him but  _ in  _ him. 

Spot was not in any way shape or form looking forward to any of it. 

He climbed from the passenger seat of the car and followed Bryan into the children’s wing of the local hospital. It was cold, and his stomach hurt more than usual today, probably because he was more than a little bit stressed. 

Once they were actually in the hospital building, Spot focused on not focusing. 

Don't think about the too-clean hallways and the too-bright lights. Don't think about the weird chemical smell or the soft buzzing, humming sound always in the background. Just don't think. 

At least the entrance to the children's hospital was a lot less sterile than the emergency room entrance. It was still obviously a hospital, but the high ceiling and wide open windows made it feel a lot less like a cage. And everything was very colorful. Way too colorful. Why did they need wind chimes indoors? This whole place was stupid and Spot didn’t want to be here. 

Spot attempted to distract himself by looking at the weird artwork hanging from the ceiling. It looked like it might be fish? No, birds. Multicolored, abstract, stained-glass birds. 

The whole place had a bit of a nature themed aesthetic going on apparently, with a waterfall wall in the middle of the room and colorful swirly flower tiles on the floor. 

Apparently that was supposed to distract and comfort people from being terrified and in pain. 

Spot was neither distracted nor comforted. He really really wanted to go home. 

Unfortunately, he wasn’t allowed to go home, and this wasn’t exactly a situation where he could just ignore what he was told to do. The doctor, and then Bryan, had drilled into his head the importance of this  _ procedure,  _ as they always called it. If he didn’t suck it up and let them do it, there was a fair chance that he would die. Spot actually did have to be here, whether he liked it or not. 

Bryan talked with a receptionist who looked entirely too happy to be there, and she smiled widely at Spot. He hated her immediately as she gestured for them to sit and wait. 

The waiting made it infinitely worse. Why couldn’t they just get it over with? 

“Hey there, you’re Sean, right?” an older woman with a slightly (very very slightly) less irritating smile greeted him. He didn’t bother responding, and surprisingly, Bryan didn’t try and force him to.

“I’m Maria. I’ll be getting you all checked in today.” Spot glared at her, but she was annoyingly unfazed by his seething hatred for her happiness. 

“Come with me, we’ll get all the basics checked out and then get you settled.” 

Bryan stood to follow her, and Spot grudgingly got to his feet. 

He stared intently at Maria’s ugly bird patterned scrubs the entire time, refusing to let himself be afraid. 

_ Don't think.  _ He told himself, clutching this strap of his backpack filled with the few necessities for a couple of days in the hospital. 

_ Just follow Bryan, follow the nurse.  _

Yet again he was weighed and declared “severely underweight,” thus cementing his resolve to hate this place. When the nurse measured Spot’s height, she didn’t say he was short, luckily, because he would have set her on fire if she did. He was absolutely done with all of this bullshit which unfortunately continued. 

_ Why  _ did they have to know his blood pressure? His heart was supposedly fine. At this point, Spot didn’t think he’d particularly care if he had a heart attack and died in the middle of the surgery. At least then it would all be over and done. 

Spot was probed and squeezed and poked for a few more minutes until finally they had all “the basics” written down. There were certainly a lot of basics. Spot wondered how long it would take if they ever happened to need more than the basics. 

Maria smiled, probably happy to get away from the kid who had just told her to fuck off about fifteen times in ten minutes. 

“Alright, we’ll just get this last bit of paperwork done and then someone will be in to take you to your room.” 

Bryan was handed a pile approximately the size of the entire phonebook and got to work signing his name about a thousand times. 

Spot sat next to him, staring at the wall. His hands were not shaking. Absolutely not. 

He forced his mind and eyes to wander in a casual manner, taking in yet another entirely too cheerful waiting area. This one only had a few people in it, mostly parents with children clearly much younger than Spot, around eight or nine years old.

Apparently they were sorted by size here, like pairs of pants. Not that Spot was small. He was absolutely normal sized and he’d fight anyone who said otherwise. 

After a few minutes and Bryan destroying an entire rainforest worth of paper for all the million forms he had to sign, Spot turned and saw someone he definitely didn’t expect to see here. 

Someone he hadn’t seen in years. 

He’d been a little kid when they last met, back in that group home with Boots. Why was he here? A nurse? It didn’t make any sense. 

Yet there in front of him now, dressed in uncharacteristically dorky Lion King scrubs, was...

“Skittery?”   
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still deciding how "graphic" or in depth I wanna be about some of the medical procedures for people with gastrointestinal issues, as dealing with them is a big part of coping with a chronic illness like crohns, but I also know that talking/reading about them can make people uncomfortable, and I don't want anybody to be upset by my writing. 
> 
> So like, if anyone has an opinion on this, I'd appreciate any input.


	37. Chapter 37 (Skittery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Might be losing my mind, might not.  
> This is my first time ever writing Skittery, so idk how it went.  
> Hope y'all like it!

Sebastian hurried down the hall, glancing distractedly at the papers in his hands. He'd have to figure out the names and stuff later. 

He knew exactly one thing about this new patient, and that was that he was a foster kid. They always sent Sebastian to talk to the foster kids. It made sense, he had to admit. He knew how they felt and could relate better. 

But he wished he could be seen as more than just a miracle case, former delinquent child Sebastian, wow, what an example for no reason whatsoever. 

He was a person, dammit. Not the unofficial hospital mascot. “Look at us, hiring charity cases! Such heroes, giving this pathetic wretch a second chance at a future!”

Absolutely not. He’d worked hard to get his nursing certification, just like the rest of them, and he did his job, and did it well. Sebastian was many things, but a charity case was not one of them. 

It would also be nice if they gave him some information on this kid, such as, I don't know, anything at all? 

"Being a former foster kid" wasn't really the best thing to bond over. 

"Hey, I'm Sebastian, heard you're a foster kid, I was too, don't worry, everything’s going to be fine because  _ friendship! _ ”

That would go over  _ wonderfully.  _

Especially considering this kid was… he glanced at the papers again. Fourteen. Yes, the average fourteen year old boy would be so very interested in being chummy with a male nurse. Most of them thought his carreer choice, and by extension, Sebastian as a person, was stupid. 

Not that Sebastian particularly cared. He was pretty much used to it by now, and besides, kids who were scared or in pain acted like dickheads. It was understandable, and he wasn’t about to hold that against anybody. 

Kids were allowed to be dumb. That was why he’d become a pediatric nurse. When adults were dicks to him, he got all bristly, and his bedside manner was basically shit. With kids, it was somehow fine. He could be friendly and caring and none of it was even an act. Sebastian liked kids, even when they were grouchy or crying or puking all over him. He preferred when they didn’t puke on him though. 

Sebastian glanced down at his watch and hurried along. Why was the children’s wing so big? He’d been held up by a baby needing an IV (teeny tiny veins and they cried) and now this next patient was going to be waiting for ages. 

“Skittery?" 

Halfway into the waiting room, Sebastian jumped in surprise at his old nickname. He hadn’t heard that name in years. Not since...

"Spotty? What are you doing here?" he couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, even if he’d been trying. Spot had grown, though not nearly as much as he probably should have, and he looked incredibly pissed off. 

Sebastian looked down at his heap of papers, and sure enough, the name Sean Conlon, in big bold letters. 

He really should have read that earlier. 

"Dying, what the fuck does it look like?" 

Spotty sounded about as pissed as he looked. 

“I’m sorry, who are you? Sean, do you know each other?” The guy sitting next to him looked confused. 

Skittery-no, his name was  _ Sebastian.  _ Not Skittery. That was in the past-  _ Sebastian  _ turned and offered his hand to the guy. 

“I’m Sebastian. Nurse. Yeah, me and Spot-uh, Sean, met ages ago. Been a while.” He tried to look professional but couldn’t quite keep from smiling. Good to know Spot found a family. 

“Bryan Denton. Sean’s foster father.”  _ Foster  _ father. So nothing was official. That sucked. 

Well, no time to think about that now. Spot was chewing on his fingers nervously, and really should be getting to his room. 

“Well, let’s get going,”Sebastian said, leading the way. 

Spot was scowling, this guy Bryan still looked confused, and Sebastian was trying very hard to stay professional. 

Wait, he was a pediatric nurse. He wasn’t  _ supposed  _ to be completely professional. Though Spot didn’t look like he was the kind of kid who’d appreciate sock puppets at the present moment. 

“Alright, here we are!” Sebastian said cheerfully, gesturing to the door of room 106. “You’ve got your own room, don’t even have to share!”

“Fuck an outlet, Captain Sunshine.” 

Well, that explained why he was put in a room alone. Most of the other patients in this ward were very young children, around eight or nine. Children of the age where their parents would likely not appreciate a vocabulary like that. 

“Sean!” Bryan said sharply. 

Sebastian was almost relieved to see Spot glare at him. Obviously this guy didn’t scare him, so he must be safe at home. 

It was still very awkward to be standing there though. Parents were the hardest part of the job, in Sebastian’s opinion. 

“Alright,” he said, a little uncomfortable now. “Well, I have to see to other patients, but if you need anything, the nurse’s station is right down the hall to your left.”

Sebastian clapped a hand on Spot’s back affectionately, but regretted it immediately when the boy flinched away with a growl and muttered cursing. The nurse felt his heart break a little at how much Spot had changed. 

He'd been completely touch-starved when Skittery met him, the cuddliest, sweetest six year old in the world. Always climbing into someone, typically Skittery's, lap for a hug. 

He didn't want to think about what had happened between then and now to change that. While he’d become nurse Sebastian, Spot had become an irritable, freaked out teen, and that didn’t just happen.

Well, being an irritable teen kind of did, but not the flinching and the excessive swearing. 

Sebastian left the two alone and shut the door gently behind him. He sighed in what might have been relief. He didn’t really know. This was kind of a lot. 

Spot was from a part of his life that he’d been trying to push behind him, to forget about. And then here he was, still tiny and vulnerable-looking as ever, a patient assigned to Sebastian and constantly calling him Skittery. 

He’d be checking up on Spot, making sure he was healthy, trying to keep everything in order and make sure the scrawny little kid was safe. It was like going back in time, but now Spot was falling apart on the inside rather than getting beat up on the outside. 

_ And this time,  _ he reminded himself, _ you don’t have to do everything. There’s doctors and other nurses and he has a dad who seems decent. Spotty’s got other people looking out for him now.  _

But still, Sebastian couldn’t pretend Spot didn’t exist even if he’d wanted to. 


	38. Chapter 38 (Spot & David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Experiencing a bit of writers block so not too happy with this chapter, but we gonna keep on chugging till I figure out where the heck we're going with this. 
> 
> Thanks for sticking with me so far on this train ride with no clear destination!

Seeing Skittery was too much, especially now. 

Spot was secretly, or maybe not so secretly, still angry at the man. Skittery had promised to come back for him. He said when he aged out of the system, got a job, was more stable, he’d come and get Spot, they’d be free from all the shit they’d been through. Obviously that never happened, and Spot was pretty sure being a nurse counted as “stable”. 

After six years, six shitty, miserable years, to suddenly see him  _ here  _ of all places? Spot didn’t know how to handle it. Skittery acting all chummy definitely hadn’t helped things, either, though Spot probably should have been less of a dick to him.

No, Spot decided. Skittery had abandoned him. He didn’t deserve for Spot to be friendly. He deserved all the dickishness Spot felt like throwing his direction. 

Apparently Bryan disagreed though. 

Spot didn’t want to admit how much it freaked him out to have Bryan use that angry tone with him. That had never happened. Bryan was always calm and concerned, sometimes annoyingly so. He never snapped, or at least not at his kids. 

It didn't usually bother Spot when people yelled at him, heck, sometimes he tried to piss people off. Getting them to lose their temper at him was a victory. But with Bryan, it was  _ different _ somehow. Not  _ scary  _ exactly, but Spot definitely didn’t like it. 

Was Bryan still angry? Spot hoped not. Better not to check.

Spot was pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to handle it if Bryan did anything. He’d never once struck Spot, but he’d also never sounded like he wanted to before. Spot sat on the bed and stared at his hands, deliberately avoiding looking up at the man. 

He picked at the scratchy blanket on the bed, fiddling with a loose stitch in the crocheted brown yarn. 

Bryan sighed and sat on the bed next to him. 

“Sean.”

He sounded serious, a little tired, but not angry. Spot still moved away without thinking. 

“Hey.” Spot tried not to stiffen when he felt the hand between his shoulder blades. He tried. 

This time though, the hand didn’t go away, it just stayed there, warm and steady. Spot relaxed gradually into the touch and forced himself to look up at Bryan. 

He didn’t  _ seem  _ angry at least. 

“Want to tell me what that was all about?”

_ No, no I do not.  _

Saying nothing didn’t seem to be an option now though. Just pretend it’s normal. Pretend he’s just some nurse. Apologize and be done. 

“Sorry I was a dick to the nurse. Won’t happen again.” 

It totally would happen again. Spot wasn’t particularly good at not being a dick to people who deserved it. 

He clenched his teeth, wincing at the stabbing in his stomach. At least the pain was a distraction. 

Bryan sighed, and Spot felt bad, though he didn’t know why. 

“Sean, the swearing at everyone  _ is  _ a problem, but I promise, I’m not mad about it. Sure, you have to get used to being civil sooner or later, but I don’t expect it to happen immediately just because I said so, alright?” 

Bryan gave him a little smile. Spot gnawed at his lip and nodded. If it would make Bryan happy, he could work on it. 

Wow, that was a change, Spot realized. He didn’t usually  _ want  _ to make his “parents” happy. Apparently there was something to the whole “not being a jerk to the foster kid” thing. Who knew?

Bryan continued asking questions. 

“So, you know him?”

“Yeah. Long time ago. I was seven. Group home,” Spot explained. 

“It was… not great. Skittery was basically the only one there who didn’t…” Spot didn’t want to finish that thought. 

He was honestly surprised with himself. He’d never told anyone anything about that. Didn’t even talk to Boots about it. They pretty much just silently and mutually agreed to pretend it all just never happened. 

Lost in thought, Spot was vaguely aware as Bryan rubbed his shoulders gently. “It’s okay, kiddo. You’re safe now. I promise.” 

Spot turned and leaned into Bryan’s body, just letting himself be held. 

It was okay, he told himself, not for the first time in the past few days. He was okay. Everything was scary and messed up and stupid, but Spot would be okay.

He always was. And this time, he wasn’t on his own anymore. 

  
  
  


David was going to kill Racetrack, he decided. 

Every five minutes, “Do you know how Spot is? David, how’s Spot? Any news on Spot?” “No idea, Racetrack. I don’t know, Racetrack. Not yet, Racetrack.”

Racetrack didn’t seem to realize that David was also very worried, and being constantly reminded that his brother was in the hospital did not make distracting himself any easier. 

Brother? When had he started thinking of Spot as his brother? Well, David had a new brother now, apparently. 

As if Les wasn’t trouble enough. 

“Racer, you gotta calm down. We’re all worried, but freaking out isn’t going to make anything better.”   
Jack Kelly, greatest boyfriend ever, was for once being the responsible, level headed one of the group. 

David was truly living in the end times. 

“His surgery’s tomorrow, and we’re going to visit the day after,” Sarah said, picking at her sandwich with one hand and holding her new girlfriend's (Katherine? David thought her name was Katherine. At this point it would be weird to ask) hand with the other.“I promise, we’ll tell you the second he’s confirmed alive.” 

Sarah sounded calm and collected, but David knew she’d been up entirely too late the previous night, deep cleaning the kitchen cabinets for no reason at all. Sarah got productive when she stressed, David just got irritable. 

Racetrack flailed dramatically, tossing half his school lunch “fries” across the cafeteria.    
“Racer, Eat. Your. Food.” Mushy said, uncharacteristically sternly. 

“How can I eat when the love of my life is possibly in mortal peril?” 

“Easy,” Blink grinned. “Like this.” He picked a fry out of Mush’s hair and ate it. 

“You’re an ape,” David said, but apparently ape-ness worked, because Racetrack started eating his lunch. 

David leaned against Jack with a sigh. He couldn’t wait for Spot to be home. Then things could go back to normal, whatever that looked like. 


	39. Chapter 39 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Almost submitted this instead of a literary analysis for elearning so that was a thing.  
> I caught myself before I did. There is a God and he is good.

Spot was not scared. He wasn’t scared to be alone in the hospital all night, and he wasn’t scared to have surgery the very next morning. 

He absolutely was not scared to be alone in the dark room with all the weird shadows and sounds. Spot just turned the light on so he could see better. That was the only reason. 

He was  _ not  _ scared. 

God, Spot hated hospitals so much. He’d never spent so much time in one before in his life. Everything smelled like chemicals and rubber, and the sheets on the bed felt all weird and starchy. Spot was glad to have his blanket from home with him. 

He sat on the chair in the corner and wrapped himself up in a ball. The chair felt normal. The bed did not. The bed was obviously a hospital bed with the weird mattress that made weird sounds and the scratchy bleachy smelling sheets. Spot wanted to pretend he wasn’t in a hospital. Anywhere else would be better right about now, including but not limited to places such as: his bed, Racetrack’s house, the stupid math class he hated, or the deepest flaming cavern in the hottest corner of hell. 

If he hid his face in the blanket, didn’t look up, it was almost like being at home. At least the smell was familiar, mostly like laundry detergent and just a little like cats, but not enough to be gross or anything. Jenny liked his blanket as much as he did. 

Spot looked up at a knock on the door. Skittery entered, basically the last person Spot wanted to see him curled up in a stupid pathetic ball right then. 

“Hey, just checking in one last time for the day. Why aren’t you in bed?” Skittery was annoyingly casual and entirely too friendly. His smile was too big, too fake. It looked like a mask. Spot would have set him and his stupid plastic-smiling face on fire right then given the opportunity. He wasn’t in bed because he didn’t fucking  _ feel  _ like it. Skittery could shove the entire stupid bed up his ass, as far as Spot was concerned. 

Spot said none of these thoughts, and settled for just glaring daggers at the man. He’d told Bryan he’d try not to tell Skittery to fuck off. He didn’t promise to be  _ nice.  _

The man fidgeted awkwardly with his hair, still standing uncomfortably in the doorway. 

“Spotty, what’s up? Why’re you acting so weird?” Skittery came in and sat on the edge of the bed and faced Spot, looking way too concerned for Spot’s liking. Why couldn’t he just go  _ away?  _ Spot didn’t want to talk to him or look at him or think about him. 

“This isn’t the kid I remember.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a lot you missed, Skittery. I’m not that kid anymore.” Spot snapped, trying not to let on how much even thinking about it hurt. Skittery didn’t get it. He thought everything would just magically be okay, that Spot would still want to be around him. 

He was about five years too late. 

For almost two years Spot had waited for him. Through all the shit with bad homes and all the pain that came with them, Spot had waited. 

He’d been ten when he realized Skittery wasn’t coming for him. Ten was when he’d broken his arm “falling down the stairs” of a one story house. 

Ten was also when he first tried pot, and immediately puked, maybe from the smell, maybe the taste. The kid who gave it to him thought it was hilarious, too hilarious to help him like Skittery had always done when Spot was hurt or upset. 

Ten was when Spot finally understood that he was really on his own. 

“Spot, I…” Skittery clearly didn’t know how to respond to his outburst of emotion. 

“I’m sorry,” he said simply. 

Spot didn’t trust himself to respond. Sorry? Nobody was ever sorry. Sure, they said they were, but really, they were just glad not to be like him. He didn’t want their pity. Pity was worthless and stupid and weak. 

“Spot, I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you from all of that shit, and I’m sorry you were there in the first place. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to get you out and in general I’m just sorry that everything sucked so much. I’m just sorry.” 

Spot stared intently outside, trying to decide what to say. What to think. 

“Why didn’t you come back?” Spot’s voice came out smaller than he wanted it to be, and honestly what he said was a surprise to himself too. Skittery sighed.    
“Spot, they never would’ve let me. I mean, if I was like, actually your real brother, things might’ve been different, but just some guy you met at a group home? No way anybody would take me seriously if I showed up wanting to adopt some kid.”

Spot knew Skittery was right. But it still sucked. He avoided looking at the man, instead grabbing the remote to flick the TV channel back and forth between the news and some shitty sitcom. Hospitals must be the only places on the planet to still be willing to pay for cable. 

“Besides, it looks like you’ve got something good going here, right?” Skittery offered, breaking the awkward silence. “I talked with Bryan, your foster dad. This family, they sound pretty nice.”

“Yeah. I like them.” Spot hesitated before adding, almost shyly, “Bryan says he wants to try and-and make it permanent.”

“You mean adopting you?”

Spot nodded. “I mean, nothing’s official, and Jonathan’s being a total dick about it, but maybe, I don’t know. Just … maybe.” 

Skittery smiled, a real, genuine one this time.

“I’m happy for you, kid. You deserve to have things start working out for a change.” Spot returned the smile.

“You should get to bed,” Skittery said, getting to his feet. 

“I get off in half an hour, but I can stay with you until then if you want.”

Spot shook his head. He appreciated the offer, but having Skittery stay with him while he slept was a bit more childish than he was willing to deal with today. He already felt kind of like an idiot. He could get to sleep on his own. 

“Alright, I’ll be in tomorrow morning before your surgery,” Skittery promised. Spot didn’t respond to that, just hopped into bed silently. If he thought about tomorrow, he’d never get to sleep. 

“Goodnight, Spotty.” Skittery switched out the light on his way out.    
“'Night Skitz."


	40. Chapter 40 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It took me a whole 18 years to watch high school musical and may I just say, Kelsi? Is too pure for this world. I ship her and Zeke.

Spot was definitely not scared. Anyone would be uncomfortable at the thought of being cut open while unconscious, no matter how “statistically unlikely” death was. If they’d bothered to keep track of all the numbers for the statistics, that meant that sometimes people did die. Spot had never had particularly good luck. It’d fit with his track record of everything sucking for him to die in a “completely safe” procedure. 

So yeah, Spot was  _ concerned.  _ That was a better word than scared. Which he wasn’t. Spot wasn’t scared because he didn’t get scared. Concerned, uncomfortable, maybe a little tense, but not scared. 

And he was hungry, which was somewhat unusual for Spot. Probably because he hadn’t eaten all day yesterday, in order to be nice and empty when they sliced his intestines open. Fun. Spot wondered what guts looked like. Spot didn’t want to wonder what guts looked like, or at least not what his guts looked like. Spot was wondering it anyway. Spot really needed to stop thinking so much. 

Oh, hell. He might as well just admit it. Spot was scared, whatever way you wanted to look at it.

He really wanted this to all be over, to just go home and worry about something else. 

It was just lucky they were doing it in the morning. That meant less time awake to worry about it, though unfortunately it also meant that Bryan was for some stupid reason not allowed to be there until after the surgery was over. 

It all really sunk in completely when Skittery, who had come back that morning as promised, left the room so Spot could change. 

As he put on the hospital gown, Spot was painfully aware that his hands were shaking, which really made an already shitty situation all the more difficult. Why did they have so many little strings to tie? 

Spot growled as he struggled to get the stupid shoulder thingy fastened. He was not ready for this. Not at all. 

“Hey, Spotty. You ready?” 

Spot seriously considered murdering Skittery. He was entirely too chipper, which annoyed Spot as a general rule, even more so when he’d been woken up early for something very not fun.

He sighed. It wasn’t Skittery’s fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. Except possibly his parents, since apparently there was evidence this condition was genetic. Just like everything else, “mom and dad” had been screwing him over, even since before he was born. 

“Spot?” Skittery was standing next to him now. “You okay?”

_ Don’t think about them. Not now.  _ Spot couldn’t handle anything else right now.

“I just- I can’t get this stupid thing tied,” Spot snapped, shrugging Skittery’s hand off his arm. 

“Here, let me get it.”

Spot gave in at that point. He really wanted to get this whole surgery bullshit over with, and the sooner this stupid dress got on the sooner they could start and then be done. 

Spot felt sick at the thought, so he focused on Skittery’s stupid scrubs. Cartoon ducks, with little multicolored cowboy hats. Who came up with these designs, and how much acid did they do beforehand? 

“Skittery?” He asked, trying not to fidget while the nurse finished tying the hospital gown on him. 

“Yeah?”

“Are you-” Spot hesitated, not quite sure how to ask what he wanted to ask.

“Do you work during the surgeries?” He settled on asking a general question.

“Sometimes,” Skittery said, guiding him to the stupid bed cart thing that Spot was growing to hate with a passion.

“I’m mostly there to monitor vitals, keep the patient comfortable, stuff like that,” he explained. 

“Oh.” Understanding lit up the man’s face then, and his voice switched over to Weird Gentle Dad/Older Brother Voice Skittery. 

“Spot, I’ll be in the room with you, don’t worry.” Spot nodded, grateful Skittery could figure it out without any explicit vulnerability on his part. 

Skittery was soon joined by a group of nurses Spot didn’t recognize, and Spot was wheeled out into the hallway. One benefit to it being the ass-crack of dawn was that the hallway was more or less empty. And drafty. He shivered at the chill, and really wished he was allowed to wear normal clothes. Though they’d probably get ruined and all covered in blood and - nope. Spot shivered again, and not at the cold this time. 

No thinking about that. Think about cold, think about tired, think about now stuff. Stuff like this stupid cold bed and all the horrible machines and wires and tubes and- Maybe he should just not think at all. 

The room for the procedure was even worse than the hallway. Cold and bright and weird. Too much sharp, shiny stuff and Spot didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be alone. Where was Skittery? He said he wouldn’t leave. Spot didn’t know these nurses. He’d met the doctor, but he still didn’t trust him, or like him. 

“Hey, hey. Breathe, Sean.” 

There he was. Spot breathed, trying to be calm. It was going to be okay. He’d be okay. 

“Lay back, sweetie.” One of the female nurses put a gentle hand on his shoulder, pushing him slowly down onto the table. He wanted to go home. Spot closed his eyes and told himself to think about anything else. Anything. 

The lady rubbed his arm gently, and Spot stiffened. By now he was entirely too familiar with that gesture. They always did that right before sticking you with a needle. 

_ Relax. Just sit, don’t move. It’ll be over soon.  _ Spot couldn’t stop shaking. Someone held his arm down and then he felt the little prick. It took a minute for the drugs to kick in, and this time, Spot tried not to panic as he got dizzy and tired.

“Okay, I want you to start counting backwards from a hundred,” instructed the doctor. Spot hated him. He hated him so much. Why did he have blue skin? Was it blue before? Probably not. This was why he didn’t do any drugs besides pot. 

“Fuck you,” Spot mumbled as the world dipped in a nauseating spiral of colors and hideously patterned nursing scrubs. He fell asleep staring at stupid Wild West Waterfowl while Skittery brushed his hair out of his face. 


	41. Chapter 41 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Good news, I have the ending written! Now I just have to write all the chapters in between this one and that one!
> 
> We have a party bus and a destination, but no road map, so break out the Cherry Pepsi and goldfish crackers and let's frickin party while we drive!!!

Bryan was there when Spot woke up. He opened his eyes at the sound of his voice and then immediately shut them when the world started to pitch and sway.  _ Ugh. This is absolute fucking hell.  _

Spot groaned and grabbed his head. 

"Bryan?" Spot needed him close. 

"Hey kiddo. How do you feel?" Spot felt Bryan's hand on his shoulder, and he reached up to grab it. 

"Like shit," he grumbled, not really caring about his promise from yesterday to try and stop with the cursing. Apparently Bryan didn’t care much about it either, because he didn’t say anything about it. 

"I know, kiddo. It'll feel better soon, once the anaesthetics wear off all the way."

Spot opened his eyes cautiously, and this time the room didn't spin. Well, not as much.

With his eyes open, Spot could really tell that he was in fact still in the hospital, which was not something he particularly wanted to be aware of. 

"Bryan, I want to go home." The words were out before he even thought about saying them, and he was immediately embarrassed. God, he sounded like a little kid, but Bryan didn't seem to care at all. Just fixed Spot with that soft, caring look that was gradually becoming less and less irritating as time went on. 

"I know, kiddo. You’ll get to go home in a few days. They just need to make sure you're recovering right." Bryan pushed the hair out of Spot's eyes gently with one hand. Spot still held the other, which luckily nobody was around to acknowledge. He didn’t have the energy to kill anybody right now. 

Well, there was one person around, but he wasn’t stupid enough to point anything out. Skittery just wandered around the room doing nurse stuff. 

Spot was starting to feel less nauseous, but still pretty garbage in general, when the doctor (Dr. Milton? Morris? Something like that) poked his head in. 

"Mr. Denton, we have some paperwork and things to discuss with you, if you'll follow me." Bryan turned to Spot at that. 

"Will you be okay if I go?" Spot nodded, and was left alone with Skittery. 

He immediately proceeded to bitch about how much this situation sucked, of course. With Bryan out of the room, he didn't even have to feel bad about it. 

“Fuck, my head hurts like all hell.”

Skittery laughed lightly at Spot's complaint. “Well, now you’ll never want to try hard drugs,” he pointed out. “Open your mouth, I have to take your temperature and make sure you don’t die.”

“You’re a jerk, Skittery,” Spot grumbled, shoving Skittery and his instruments of torture away. “Get your kicks from something besides roofie-ing kids and leave me to die in peace.”

“Nope. No dying. I’d get fired, and I actually like my job. Now let me take your temperature or I’ll go get a different thermometer, the kind that goes in the other end of you.” 

_ Absolutely not. _ Enough shit had been shoved up inside Spot recently. He’d actually set Skittery on fire if he tried. 

“You’re a pervert,” Spot hissed, but he complied anyway. Mainly because he didn't actually want to die. 

But that didn't mean he wasn't going to be annoying about it, of course. 

“Want to tell me exactly  _ why  _ this bullshit is all necessary?”

“Because you’re a twig, Spotty,” Skittery said simply.

“We have to be more careful with everything since you’re… fragile.”

Spot bristled at that. “I am  _ not  _ a twig, or  _ fragile." _

Why Spot felt the need to argue a point that even he knew wasn't true, he didn't know. But he was gonna argue it anyway.

"You are, and that's okay. It's because of the crohn's disease. It'll get better, it's just gonna take time. Dr. Morris can explain it more if you want him to." 

"Sorry, I don't have time for that exciting and informative presentation by everyone's favorite freak, Dr. Assfuck. I'm busy sticking needles in my eyeballs." Spot did not like the doctor, and nothing was going to change his mind. 

"He's not that bad, Spot. Dr. Morris is a good doctor. You're lucky to be where he can see you."

"Sure. I'm very lucky to be in the capable hands of your sweet lover. So when am I allowed to wear pants, suck-off?" 

Spot asked, changing the subject irritably from Skittery’s weird and realistically nonexistent crush on his boss. He was cold and frankly it was embarrassing wearing just this thin dress thing. 

"When the doctor says you can, shrimp," Skittery countered the insult with one of his own, poking Spot in the chest. 

"Hey! I'm supposed to be fragile, remember?" Spot tried to suppress a smile, but couldn't. This was the Skittery he'd known and missed. 

The little bit of effort used to mess with Skittery was surprisingly tiring, and Spot found himself very aware of the soreness in his stomach. He’d almost been able to forget that it was “Slice Spot Open Day.” 

He found that he was actually tired enough to comply with what Skittery wanted, until finally Bryan returned, holding his phone in one hand and, like usual with these hospital people, a heap of papers in the other. 

"Just got off the phone with the other kids. Les is really looking forward to coming in to visit. He's a bit disappointed they won't let him bring the cat in, though." 

Spot grinned. He was surprised to find that he’d become fond of the irritatingly happy, energetic child that was Les Jacobs. 

Well, maybe it wasn't that surprising. Spot hated to admit it, but he was going soft, and even worse, he didn't particularly mind that he was. Keep it up like this and he’d have to join the knitting club and give up smoking. Actually, it had been a while since he’d had a cigarette, now that he thought of it. But knitting club was still entirely out of the question. Mush was, for some unexplainable Mush-logicked reason, a member of the knitting club. Spot knew he would 100% stab the entirely too cheerful boy with a pointy needle if forced to be in the same room with him for an extended period of time. 

At least, that’s what he told himself. He had to keep up appearances at least  _ a little.  _ Like Jonathan was always telling people in a weak attempt to get them to accept Spot’s refusal to cut his hair, “familiarity was important and all that shit”. Except Jonathan didn’t say it like that. 

Spot shifted a little to lean against Bryan. They’d move him back to the original room sooner or later, but until then, he might as well be comfortable where he was. 

Bryan was warm, and after all, it wasn’t like anyone was there to see Spot acting all peaceful. 

  
  



	42. Chapter 42 (Skittery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Skittery gives off protective older brother vibes
> 
> Ya girl is having an arthritic-ly painful day, so screw crohns disease and all the horribleness that comes with it.

When Skittery got into work the next day, everyone was avoiding his eyes in a very awkward and very obvious way.

“Lindsey, what’s going on?” he asked one of the other nurses. Lindsey was one of his close friends. She’d tell him what was wrong.

“Well,” She looked uncomfortable. 

“There was a bit of an issue with your friend last night. Apparently, Dr. Morris thought that while he was asleep would be the perfect time to check his sutures. Apparently Sean is a lighter sleeper than expected.”

“I can’t imagine that went over well.” Spot had made it very clear he didn’t want to be messed with unless absolutely necessary. Having it come as a surprise would certainly not make him happy. 

“He broke Anna’s nose.”

Skittery winced. That was a worse reaction than he would have expected. He would have sworn his blood ran cold at Lindsey’s next words, if blood running cold were physically possible. 

  


“If it happens again, they’ll want to move him into the psych ward.” 

“Oh, that won’t end well at all. I know they’re good doctors over there, but Sean would never put up with that kind of thing. He hates having people “probe his brain”, and with their restricted visiting hours…” Skittery trailed off. 

Also, though he didn’t mention it to Lindsey, Skittery didn’t work in the psych ward. Without his family around as often, without Skittery, without  _ any  _ familiar faces, Spot would freak. He’d been acting pretty good lately, but putting him somewhere unfamiliar and alone, when he was already stressed and in pain? No, that would just be disastrous. 

Skittery knew the doctors and nurses in the psych ward were good, caring people, but Spot wouldn’t care. He’d either murder someone, or hurt himself being an idiot. 

Wait, that had been the problem last night, hadn’t it? Spot couldn’t be alone. So if Skittery could make sure someone he knew was always around...

  


“Maybe if I start working nights,” Skittery thought aloud. “His family comes in during the day, so I don’t  _ need  _ to be here.”

Lindsey nodded. “I’d be willing to switch you my night shift on Thursday/Friday, just for now.”

Skittery smiled gratefully.

“Now I just have to find someone to switch the other six nights with.”

  
\----------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ---------  
  


Visiting hours began at 9 AM, and Skittery found himself standing outside Spot’s room, 106, listening to Bryan lecturing the boy. 

“You broke someone’s nose!” Bryan sounded genuinely upset, and Skittery didn’t like it. “Bryan, I was asleep, and she was touching me, and it hurt so I woke up, and I just- I freaked. It was an accident, I swear! I’m sorry.”

Skittery knew it was rude, and he felt bad for eavesdropping, but old habits die hard. This Bryan guy seemed like he genuinely cared, but in Skittery’s experience, most parents didn’t react well to altercations that ended in broken bones. He had to make sure Spot wasn’t going to get hurt. 

Spot’s defense had sounded freaked, and Skittery couldn’t help but be suspicious. 

The older man in the room sighed, and sounded like he was about to continue, when Skittery’s surveillance was interrupted by Spot’s brother. 

“What are you doing standing there?”   
Skittery nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling to think up an excuse for standing to the side of the hall. 

The boy carried a thick yellow blanket under one arm, and he looked irritated to find Skittery loitering around the room. 

“You’re Spot’s brother, David, right?” the boy nodded, still looking suspiciously at Skittery. 

“And who are you?”

Skittery sighed, and decided to go with the truth. He gestured for the boy to follow him down the hall a bit. This was not a conversation he particularly wanted to have out in the middle of the hall. 

“I’m Sebastian, or I guess you can just call me Skittery. I’ve known Spot since he was a little kid.” Skittery paused, trying to come up with the best way to explain this. 

“He’s been through a lot of shit that I couldn’t stop, and I’m not going to let it happen again. Don’t take this the wrong way,” Skittery said hurriedly, realizing that sounded a bit like an accusation.    
“I just… I have to make sure.” Realization flickered in David’s eyes.

“Trust me, you don’t have to worry this time. Bryan would cut off his own arm before hurting anybody, especially one of his kids. Besides,” he grinned ruefully. “This isn’t the first time Spot’s gotten into a fight. My boyfriend Jack had to get stitches the last time Spot got mad enough to hit someone.”

Skittery managed a half smile. That sounded like Spot. Skittery just wished he could make himself believe it fully. 

“Hey, I’m sorry for being so suspicious,” he admitted. “I just don’t want to see him getting hurt again, you know?”

David looked like he understood, at least. 

“I’m gonna go bring Spot’s blanket in, if you want to come, ease your mind and stuff.” The boy sounded awkward, but Skittery appreciated it. He followed as David led the way back to room 106, where sure enough, Spot was fine. He looked a bit on edge, but no bruises or marks or anything.

The best evidence that Spot was completely safe with Bryan was the way the scrawny boy snuggled adorably next to his foster dad, though he pulled away as soon as he saw David and Skittery in the doorway. Bryan smiled over the boy’s head in amusement at Spot’s obvious embarrassment, but none of them said anything. 

“David, give it,” Spot demanded, reaching for his blanket. 

David grinned mischievously and threw the blanket directly over Spot’s head, covering the boy like a net. Spot squeaked in a most undignified way, and Skittery couldn’t help but laugh. 

“Thanks David, I hate you.” Spot said, voice muffled by the thick blanket covering his face. 

He pulled it off his head and wrapped it around his shoulders, reminding Skittery very much of one of those pictures on the internet of angry little cats wrapped in towels. 

“Where’s Sarah and Les?” 

“Downstairs, Les wanted to make you a card,” David explained as Skittery tried very hard not to laugh at Spot’s messed up hair. He didn’t want to die today. 

“I’ll text Sarah to come up,” David said, doing just that. 

“I’d better go do the other parts of my job, see ya later, Spotty,” Skittery said, heading out. He’d already been spending a lot of time with Spot just because nobody else could get the kid to cooperate, and Skittery really didn’t like leaving the rest of the nurses shorthanded. No way were his coworkers going to suffer because Skittery had a friend in the ward, and he certainly wasn’t going to let any of the other kids become neglected. 

Hospitals sucked, but Skittery was determined to make this one suck just a little bit less. For everyone. 


	43. Chapter 43 (David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanted to do another David chapter so here we go.  
> The idea for this chapter popped into my head while I was bored at work and has no basis in any actual medical information.  
> I did google Sphygmomanometer though.

David was very glad to finally be able to visit Sean. He had to admit, the house felt weird without the resident grouch, even for only two days. 

_ Maybe now Racetrack will sit down and do his homework for once _ , David thought as he put the car in park. Though he’d never been particularly interested in doing that before Spot was in the hospital, so he probably wouldn’t do it now either. 

He crossed the crowded parking lot and entered the hospital, feeling a bit awkward about carrying Spot’s large blanket. Apparently he’d been complaining about wanting it, so David had offered to get it after school and then meet Sarah, Les, and Bryan at the hospital. 

He was surprised to see Sarah and Les downstairs in the lobby waiting area, seated at a table with crayons and paper spread everywhere. 

“Why aren’t you guys with Sean?” 

And actually, where was Bryan? 

“Sean’s in trouble,” Les explained, completely unconcerned and entirely invested in his drawing. 

“Dad wanted to talk to him privately, so me and Sarah are making cards.”    
“Ah.” David nodded in understanding and turned to his sister for clarification.    
“How did he manage to get in trouble less than 24 hours after surgery?”

“He punched a nurse in the face,” Sarah said matter-of-factly. 

“He did what?” David must have misheard, or why would Sarah be so calm?

“Yep. Broke her nose.” 

“And you’re just… not upset about that at all?” Maybe Sarah needed to see a doctor too. She just shrugged. 

“I mean, he shouldn’t punch people, but they said she was cleaning his stitches while he slept. If I woke up to somebody touching me someplace that probably really hurt, I would have punched her too," Sarah explained reasonably. 

Putting it that way, it made a lot more sense, David supposed. 

“Well, I’m going to go deliver this blanket,” he said, since there wasn't much else to say on that topic, and he didn't want to stand around like an idiot. Sarah always looked like she belonged, wherever she was, but David, on the other hand, felt completely stupid standing around with a blanket. 

“Okay, Mr. One-Track-Mind,” his sister teased. “Go run your errand and let us know if we’re allowed to come on up."

\-------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------  
  


David decided that the male nurse, who for some reason was called Skittery, was a miracle worker and genuinely might be some lesser-known demigod. Aside from their very first impression, where David thought the man might be entirely too nosy, Skittery seemed pretty cool. 

He was interrupted from his thoughts by Les and Sarah bursting through the door. 

“Sean!” Les shouted, launching himself towards the older boy. Skittery caught him practically mid-leap, preventing a ten-year-old sized ball of happiness ripping out Spot’s stitches and spilling his intestines out onto the bed. 

“Hey buddy, I know you’re excited to see your brother, but you have to be careful, okay?” the nurse got onto Les’ level, and David was impressed with how seriously Les immediately seemed to take the man. 

“He’s still getting better, and you don’t want to hurt him more, right?”

Skittery helped Les climb much more carefully onto the bed and force Spot into a delicate hug, taking care to show Les where the boy could and couldn’t be touched. Spot grumbled, but he actually returned the hug, which David was genuinely surprised by. 

Since Bryan was finished with being "Stern Dad" for most likely the rest of the year, the whole family got to just kind of hang around the room for a while. It was boring, but in a nice way. They had the TV on some ancient cartoon that Spot insisted was the greatest show ever but nobody else had heard of, and David finally caved and joined Les and Sarah in coloring. 

David noted that Skittery seemed to be just about the only staff member ever in the room with them, which was fortunate based on what David had heard. Spot’s reaction to anyone else was obviously less than reasonable. Case in point, the nurse who had dared enter the domain of Tiny Demon under the cover of darkness. David thought she was probably lucky to have made it out with just a broken nose. 

Apparently the doctor, or whoever was in charge around here, had realized fairly quickly that there was a much higher chance of Spot doing what he was told without a huge fight if Skittery was the one sent to make him do it.

Skittery could take blood, prod and clean his stitches, or force feed the stubborn boy medication, which were small miracles, but even that friendship did have its limits. 

Skittery entered the room with a look on his face that made David wonder if he should make a quick exit. This did not seem like it was going to be a fun conversation to witness.

“Hey Spot. I’ve got news, and you’re not going to like it, at all.”

Spot’s entire demeanor switched over from “almost pleasant” to “rabid squirrel” in an instant. “Then maybe don’t fucking share this news. What do you want now?”

David involuntarily winced at Spot’s colorful language around Les, and Skittery sighed. 

“This is coming from the doctor, not me. I told him it was a bad idea, but he wants me to talk you into it.”

Spot growled. “Skittery. Spit. It. Out. I will literally strangle you with this blood pressure tester thing.”

“ Sphygmomanometer,” David said, and immediately regretted it when everyone turned to look at him in confusion. 

“I wanted to be a doctor, remember?” Then he found out he fainted at the sight of blood, so that definitely wasn’t going to happen. 

“Well, Dr. Morris wants me to hook you up to a catheter. That way you don’t have to get out of bed at all.” David was pretty sure he knew exactly what Spot’s response to that would be, and he was correct.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”   
Skittery opened his mouth to say something, but Spot interrupted. 

“Skittery, I swear to fucking God, if you want to be a predator and stick a needle in my fucking dick, then you’re gonna have to knock me out and keep me that way because no way in fucking hell am I going to leave it in, even if it kills me to rip it out”. That dramatic declaration brought out a sigh in the obviously strained patience of Skittery. 

“Fine. I’ll tell the doctor it’s not going to work. But you’re not getting out of bed. You have to use the bathroom, you tell me. Someone is going to carry you so you don’t rip a stitch or anything.”

David didn’t really see why that was necessary, but if the doctor wanted it that way, then Spot was just going to have to deal with it.

Spot grumbled something about “fucking indecency,” and announced that Skittery, Bryan, and the entirety of the hospital staff were “a bunch of fucking perverts,” but he didn’t really protest too much. He did insist that Bryan was the only one allowed to carry him, unless he wasn’t there, in which case Skittery could fill in. 

If humoring Spot would keep the already ornery boy from being even more hard-headed than usual, then they would humor him.

Skittery left shortly after that incredibly awkward and horrible conversation, which David really wished he hadn’t been present for. Rather than thinking about any of it, David decided to focus on the way Spot obviously trusted Bryan so much now, if he was okay with being carried. Well, maybe not “okay” with it, but less not-okay with it. It meant he was really starting to be part of the family. Now all they had to do was go through the long and complicated process of making it official. 


	44. Chapter 44 (Skittery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, we getting lots of Skittery lately. 
> 
> Having some issues connecting with this fic at the moment, issues I work through by continuing to write because if I dont keep it rolling, I'll never ever finish it. 
> 
> Also by writing angst, because angst is fun. 
> 
> This fic is coming close to a close, but I've got some ideas for shortish sequels, because frankly I just rly like writing about this little family, and I'll keep writing it even if no one reads it. You cannot escape. I am inevitable.

Being a team player was paying off now. Skittery had been able to cash in on enough favors that he had the late shift almost every night. Spot wasn't going to be alone, not if he could help it. 

Of course, by two AM, all of the kids in the ward were asleep, so there wasn’t much for Skittery to do besides catch up on paperwork. It was boring, sure, but Skittery found filing papers relaxing. No rushing, no thinking, just putting papers in folders.

"Sebastian." 

Skittery looked up from his filing. 

Maria, a middle aged, very motherly nurse, stood in the glowing light of the nurses station.

"Room 106, the little one. He's awake, and it looks like he could use a friend."

He smiled, thinking about how Spotty would react to being referred to as "the little one". 

As much as Skittery wanted to go be with Spot, he couldn’t exactly leave in the middle of this. 

"Maria, I'd love to go sit with him, but I have other work to do. I can't just leave you here alone.”

Maria turned her “stern maternal” face on Skittery, insisting, "Yes you can. I insist. It's been quiet all night, and if I need you, I'll come get you. Any ape can clean vomit off some sheets, we all do what we do. You're a good nurse because you care. Go. Sit with that poor boy."

Skittery smiled. Maria wasn’t exactly the kind of person you argued with, and he loved her for it. 

When Skittery got to Spot’s room, he immediately felt bad for even considering not going to the poor kid. The skinny boy sat in the dark, his tear streaked face illuminated by a streetlight outside the window. Spot didn’t cry easily. 

He looked so small, staring vacantly outside. Skittery felt his heart squeeze. Spot had always been a tough little guy, but everyone had their limits. 

"Hey, Spotty. What're you doing up?" 

Spot started, and wiped his face on the blanket, drying the tears hastily. 

"Couldn't sleep. Hurts." Skittery nodded sympathetically. 

"Stomach?"

"Everything."

Skittery checked the information sheet by Spot's bed and thanked the stars when he saw that he could give Spot something to help the pain. 

Skittery went to get the painkillers, stopping briefly to thank Maria, who had taken over the paperwork. 

It was clear Spot was in pain, since he didn’t make a fuss about taking his pills. He’d probably be less agreeable about the next thing Skittery wanted though. He washed his hands carefully, as had become a habit by now. The last thing Spot needed was to get an infection, so he needed to check out the incision.

“Let me look at your side,” Skittery said, gently lifting the thin fabric. The bandage was clean, which was good. 

Skittery went to untape the gauzy fabric, but Spot flinched at the light touch. 

The boy whimpered and turned his face away, clearly ashamed at the momentary show of childishness.

"Hey. Don't worry. You're allowed to be hurting, Spotty. It's ok,” Skittery assured him. He’d never think less of Spot for being vulnerable, and it killed him that the boy thought he would. Skittery wanted more than anything in the world to be able to help. Just take away all the pain, but he couldn’t. All he could do was sit, and make sure Spot wasn’t alone and scared. A closer check of the stitches could wait until the painkillers kicked in. 

“Need to use the bathroom?” Skittery foolishly offered after a while, earning himself a very pissed off expression from Spot.

“No.” the boy glared daggers at him. 

That was concerning though. Not being able to use the restroom after surgery was fairly common, but after two days, he should have been back to normal. If it went much longer, they’d have to start treating it somehow, and no way would Spot like what that meant. 

Skittery decided to technically break policy by pulling out his phone and turning on some music, quiet enough that nobody could hear it from outside the room. 

Spot snorted at his choice of music, which was a relief. 

“I’m sorry, do you have a problem?” Skittery asked as innocently as he could. Spot mocking him for liking classical music was normal.

“Aside from the fact that I’m stitched up like Frankenstein?”

“Frankenstein’s monster,” Skittery corrected. Spot rolled his eyes and blinked sleepily. 

“Okay,  _ David _ . You’re a nerd.” 

Skittery gave a half smile at that. Spot leaned back onto the bed, staring somewhat vacantly at the ceiling. 

Sitting with Spot in the dimly lit room was so peaceful, Skittery was surprised when the boy spoke up and broke the near-silence from the soft notes of a piano melody. 

"I need him." Spot’s uncharacteristically pitiful voice worried Skittery more than he would have cared to admit. 

"Who?"

"M'dad." 

The medication must have been really starting to kick in, because Spot had never called Bryan dad before. 

“I’m sorry, Spotty." Skittery squeezed the boy's hand in what he hoped was an encouraging way. 

"He’ll come back in the morning.” 

Spot shivered and nodded, pulling his blanket tighter around his shoulders. Skittery felt his heart break a little bit. 

"Cold?"

"Yeah," Spot admitted. 

“I’ll be right back,” Skittery promised, going to get another blanket. It wouldn't help with the real problem at all, but Skittery couldn’t stand just sitting there doing nothing. Besides, anything to make the kid more comfortable. He stopped to talk to Maria for a moment. 

"He wants his dad." 

Maria clicked her tongue sympathetically. "Poor thing. Can you call home for him?"

"It's three in the morning, Maria,” Skittery said, glancing at his watch. “They're probably asleep."

"Wouldn't you answer the phone if you were his family?" 

Well, yes, he probably would. 

Skittery picked up the phone and started dialing, grateful he'd thought to ask for Bryan's number. “You’re a godsend, Maria.”

“I do what I do.”

The phone rang for a moment, then Bryan picked up, obviously still half asleep. 

“Hey, it’s Sebastian from the children’s hospital. Don't worry, everything's fine, no emergency or anything. Sorry to wake you, but it's about Sean.”

  
\--------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ--------

Spot had calmed down almost immediately upon hearing Bryan’s voice. They hadn’t really talked much, or at least Spot hadn’t said much of anything. Bryan talked, and Spot listened, slowly relaxing until finally he fell asleep, clutching the phone tight against his chest. 

Skittery gently pried the phone from Spot’s hand, taking care not to wake him up.  _ God, he's such a tiny kid, _ Skittery thought, putting the phone up to his ear. 

"Hey, he's asleep now, that really helped, so thanks."

"Of course." Bryan hesitated a bit before asking, "He's doing okay though?" The worry in the man's voice was not lost on Skittery.

"He's fine, " he assured Bryan. "Just a bit nervous, I think."

"Alright. Thanks for calling, Sebastian."

"Thanks for answering." 

"Of course."

Skittery hung up and went to put the phone back at the nurse's station. 

“How did it go?” Maria asked without looking up from her filing.

“He’s asleep now. I just wish…” Skittery trailed off, and Maria looked up, setting down her papers.

“Wish what?” She pushed her reading glasses up her nose. 

“I just wish he knew how to be a  _ kid,  _ you know?” Skittery sighed. “He pretends everything is fine, like he’s this big tough guy, but Maria, the kid is fourteen. He’s allowed to cry after surgery.”

Maria nodded sympathetically. 

“I think some of that is just being a teenage boy, Sebastian,” she pointed out. 

“You know how they are. Always having to act all grown up.” 

“Maybe you’re right. It’s just that when I look at him, I think part of me just sees that little kid I met years ago, you know?” Skittery explained, and Maria nodded in understanding, reaching out to squeeze his hand reassuringly. It brought back bittersweet memories of Skittery’s own mother. Now was really not the time for those kinds of thoughts, which thankfully, Maria interrupted before they could really take hold. 

“Just remember, he isn’t alone. Sean has family, he has friends like you. It’s going to be okay.”

Skittery smiled weakly.

“Thanks Maria. You really are the greatest.” She waved him off, standing from her chair with a stretch.    
“I do what I do. And what I do now is check up on the rest of our patients.” 

Skittery didn’t know what he’d do without people like Maria in his life, and he couldn’t thank her enough for that.

_ A start on thanking her might be to get all the paperwork done for tonight _ , he thought to himself, humming softly as he got started. 

_ I do what I do. And what I do now is file papers so Maria doesn’t have to.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm getting something resembling a start on another fic to start once I finish this one, so like, there's that. 
> 
> I have 2 that have half a start, so I guess if u have an opinion on which one you'd like to see first, let me know.   
> I'm still quarantined and bored out of my mind. Writing keeps me semi-sane. 
> 
> 1) more Jack/David centric, the tentative title being "They Call Him Cowboy".  
> It's extremely losely inspired by Heartland. And by inspired I mean "idk man, Jack lives on a ranch". Also, David's family raises sheep, because I like sheep.  
> In this story, I attempt to write about Snyder. We shall see if it happens. 
> 
> 2) gonna try and focus semi-equally on everyone. Tentative title being "Strays"  
> Essentially, our gal Medda runs an animal shelter, and all our favorite newsies are volunteers. I'll be trying to write Katherine in this one, so wish me luck I guess.  
> Debating about being mean to Spot some more, potentially doing a bit of a twist on the "Jack lives with Snyder" and instead having it be "Spot lives with Snyder".  
> Poor Jack deserves a break from Snyder, even in modern AUs.  
> Also Jack and Racetrack are cousins, because I said so.


	45. Chapter 45 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sprace fluff and Spot is all doped up on medication and giddy. 
> 
> Having one of those days where I literally just dont want to eat anything, even tho I'm hungry. My go to food at times like these is oranges, because I likez oranges. They iz yummy and doeznt taste like battery acid and soap. 
> 
> Fun fact, wrote this chapter from the trunk of my car because I needed a change of scenery.  
> Quarantine be like. >_<

Spot’s stomach really fucking hurt, which made him wonder what exactly had been the point of the whole surgery thing. Sure, he knew chronic illnesses meant they didn’t go away, but why had they bothered cutting him open if it wasn’t going to make any difference?

Dr. Creepy apparently just really wanted a closer look at his intestines, seeing as he was a pervert and probably a member of the undead. 

Spot poked halfheartedly at the food he was supposed to be eating. He really wasn’t hungry, and with the immense pain in his abdomen, Spot couldn't really bring himself to eat anything more than Jell-o, no matter how much everyone (meaning Skittery and Bryan) tried to get him to eat something else. 

He didn’t  _ want  _ to eat anything else, and frankly, the thought of even trying made him want to be sick. 

“Eat the toast, Spot.” “Take the pills, Spot.” “Let me carry you into the bathroom, Spot.” Fuck that. 

Spot didn’t appreciate being bossed around so much, especially over stuff that wasn’t anyone else’s business. He’d eat what he wanted, thank you very much, and he was perfectly capable of walking three feet. 

What he wanted at this particular moment was Jell-o, if he was going to be forced to eat. While Skittery was more or less immune to Spot being irritable, he was not immune to Spot being irritat _ ing.  _ This meant that Spot only had to whine for a little while before the nurse caved and let him have more Jell-o. 

Spot was well aware that he was being a little bit of a brat, but he didn’t particularly care. Everything hurt, and he wanted to die, but they wouldn’t give him the option of death. Everyone kept forcing Spot to stay alive, so he was going to bitch about it. 

He was also kind of high on painkillers, meaning he didn't really know how to shut up. Spot got giddy and talkative when he was high, no matter what it was from. 

“I brought you your stupid Jell-o, the least you could do is eat it,” Skittery grinned from the doorway.    
“I’m not hungry, and I would rather die. Are you sure they didn’t just remove my stomach by accident?” Spot wouldn’t put it past Dr. Incompetant and the Stupid Crew. 

“I promise you, everything important is still there. And no dying, you have a visitor.” Skittery sidestepped to allow the one person Spot had really been missing the most to enter the room.

“Racetrack!” Spot resisted the urge to get up and go to his boyfriend, who for some reason carried a stuffed animal. If he tried to get out of bed, Skittery might go into cardiac arrest, and that would just be annoying. 

Racetrack looked extremely uncomfortable, and Spot was suddenly painfully aware of the fact that he still wasn’t allowed to wear pants. 

Well, if he pretended it wasn’t weird, then it wouldn’t be weird. 

“How are you, come sit. I’m bored and losing my fucking mind. Skittery is shitty company.”

The nurse scoffed in fake offense. “I am hurt. I bring you Jell-o and this is how you repay me?”

“Yes. Go away and harass somebody else.”

“Behave,” Skittery warned, leaving the door half open when he left. 

Racetrack sat awkwardly in the chair next to the bed, and Spot found himself kind of disappointed at the distance between them.

“I brought you this, it’s like a get-well-soon kind of thing?” 

Racetrack offered the stuffed animal, a bird, to Spot, looking very embarrassed.    
“It’s a chicken. My sister helped me pick it out.”

Spot accepted it with a smile. Racetrack was cute when he got all flustered. 

“I’m gonna call it David.” 

“I think it’s a girl chicken.”

Spot raised one eyebrow, a skill that had taken an embarrassingly long time to perfect. 

“And?” 

That got Racetrack to laugh, and finally relax and stop looking like he wanted to jump out the window. 

“Racetrack,” Spot reached out and tugged his arm. “Come sit  _ with  _ me. Not way over there. We’re gay. We don’t gotta leave room for Jesus. He doesn’t like us, remember?”

“God loves the gays, shut your face,” Racetrack said, but hesitated before moving.    
“You’re sure I won’t hurt you?” 

“You’re hurting me by not sitting with me,” Spot said, half dragging Racetrack out of his chair and onto the bed. 

“Just don’t touch here,” he pointed to his stomach, “and I’ll be fine.”

Racetrack leaned tentatively against Spot’s side, taking an endearing amount of care not to touch his bad side.

Spot pulled his blanket over both of them, trying not to think too much about Racetrack touching his almost completely bare leg. 

He shoved the weird tray thingy out of the way, but still within reach. He should humor Skittery and try to eat today.

“You actually  _ like  _ that stuff?” Racetrack looked at Spot’s bowl of bright green wiggly cubes in disgust. 

“I like the green kind. And it doesn’t make me sick,” Spot defended himself against Racetrack’s obvious judgement. 

“The green kind is the worst,” Racetrack declared, flailing his arms in exaggeration. “Lime flavored anything tastes like dish soap and battery acid.”

Spot snorted. “Because you go around eating that delicious combination of non-foods?” 

“Mmm. Yummy. I’d eat dish soap before green Jello.” Racetrack licked his lips exaggeratedly, and Spot laughed. 

“Mmm. Congealed soap. My favorite.” He poked at the Jello before slurping up the cubes, making sure to be as noisy about it as possible. 

“That’s disgusting,” David said from the doorway, making both Spot and Racetrack jump. 

Spot chucked the plush chicken across the room, hitting David square in the chest. 

“That’s not the only thing I can suck up,” he said, grinning evilly. 

Racetrack barked a laugh at that, and David threw the chicken at his face. 

“You’re disgusting. Both of you. You deserve each other, you utter heathens. But at least now maybe Racetrack will shut up about being deeply in mourning.” David changed the subject and looked at the boy pointedly. 

“How dare you make light of this situation?” Racetrack asked, indignant. “I was separated from the love of my life, and you  _ mock  _ me? Besides, you have no room to talk, Mr. Worrywart.” He turned to Spot and stage-whispered, “Davey was panicking and going all mother hen about you. It was kinda weird, seeing as you and me are lovers.”

“Aww, David, you were worried about  _ me?  _ I feel so special.” Spot smirked, mocking David to hide the blush creeping up his face at being called “the love of Racetrack’s life”, even as a joke.

“I wasn’t  _ worried, _ ” David insisted. “Just… ugh,” David threw his hands up in defeat. “Fine, I was worried! Happy now?”

“I’ll be happy when you leave. Go away and leave us alone.”   
David flopped into the chair on the other side of the bed. 

“After your disgusting Jell-o innuendo? I’m never leaving you two alone ever again.”

Spot really hoped he was exaggerating, or things would probably end up being pretty awkward. But for now, he was happy to just hang out with his boyfriend and… brother. That was a nice word. Maybe someday he’d be brave enough to say it out loud. 


	46. Chapter 46 (Spot & Skittery)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was a difficult one for me to write, and even more difficult to get the guts to post it. 
> 
> My experience with suppository medication is genuinely, and possibly surprisingly, one of the hardest, most dehumanizing ones for me to deal with, and I have enough trouble thinking about it, much less writing it.
> 
> I hugely appreciate all who have been reading and commenting on this, as honestly, it's been an interesting journey for me to come to terms with stuff about myself that I wasn't aware I was bottling up. 
> 
> Spot learning that he is allowed to be upset, to be weak, is something I've been struggling with writing, until I realized that it wasn't going to just happen all at once. 
> 
> It's nice to know people can enjoy this journey, which, like many, is one of hope. Things are bad sometimes, but what happens to you does not define you. You don't have to look on the bright side, or think happy thoughts. You're allowed to be miserable when things suck. Just remember, for your own sake, that eventually, the sun will shine again. 
> 
> On a more positive, less deep note, my family got a kitten. They sadly do not want to name it Spot.

Once again, Spot's stomach really fucking hurt.

He really wanted to curl up and lay on his stomach to ease the cramping, but that wasn’t allowed. Spot didn’t  _ care  _ if he messed up the stitches and killed himself. Everything hurt, and he just wanted it to stop, even if only for a little while. Or forever, if he was dead. That would be just fine with Spot too. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and nudged his face into Bryan’s comforting hands like a cat. He knew it was stupid and childish and pathetic, but right now, Spot really didn’t care. 

He hated the doctor, hated him so much. The man was a total pervert. Spent all his days messing around with people’s intestines, and then when that fucked up hobby inevitably caused people problems, what was his response? 

Find another excuse to shove stuff up inside people. This time it was a pill, not a tube. And this time, Spot had to be conscious and fully aware of what was going on. Absolutely fucking  _ peachy.  _

“Normally you could do it yourself, but with the stitches and everything, they can’t have you move that much.” Skittery sounded miserable, Spot felt miserable. Everything sucked.  _ God,  _ his stomach hurt. If something didn’t change, he thought he might actually just die. 

“Fine. Just make it stop,” Spot whispered. It hurt so much. Everything hurt. If this would make it go away, he could handle it. He could. 

Just a few minutes later, Spot was less certain he could handle this. He lay on his side, head resting in Bryan’s lap. Spot did his best not to think. Don’t think about the fact that, having been instructed to take his underwear off(At least they let him do that himself), now he really didn’t have anything on under the stupid hospital dress. Don’t think about how weird that is. Don’t think about whatever Skittery was doing over by the sink behind him.

Spot reminded himself that he trusted Skittery. Skittery wouldn’t hurt him, it wouldn’t be bad. But it didn’t really matter if Skittery hurt him, did it? This still sucked.

He wasn’t sure which would be more awful, having Skittery do this, or having the doctor do it. 

“You ready?” Skittery’s voice was soft, kind. Somehow that made it even worse. 

‘Yeah,” Spot managed to whimper. He wasn’t ready. Not at all. 

Spot refused to cry, no matter how much he wanted to. This was already so humiliating. 

Spot jerked away reflexively when he felt Skittery’s hand on his thigh. Bryan held him tight, and Spot did his best not to squirm. 

Not even when he could  _ feel…  _ No. No, don’t think. Go somewhere else. Go home, or to the band room at school, hell, go to the other doctor’s office. Anywhere but here. 

Spot had never felt so exposed, not even when they’d done the colonoscopy. At least then, he was all numb. Now, he felt everything. 

It only took a short moment, and then, after a few horrible seconds of Skittery's gloved hand against his bare skin, it was over. 

“Okay, all done.” Skittery sounded just as relieved as Spot felt. 

Bryan immediately covered Spot with his blanket, the thought to Spot's privacy making him the one person on the planet he didn’t hate right then. 

“Try to keep him from moving too much for a couple minutes, or it might come back out,” Skittery instructed, voice much quieter than usual. Spot didn’t want to listen to any more, so he didn’t. He hid his face in the soft fabric of his blanket and told himself not to cry. It was fine. He was okay. It was all over now. 

He wasn’t crying. That was what he told himself. Just shaking for no reason at all, as if that was any less embarrassing. Spot reached for Bryan’s hand and held it tight, trying to stop the tears that absolutely were not falling down his face. 

"Spot?" 

He couldn't bring himself to look up and respond, no t after that. It was too humiliating. With a sigh,  Skittery left, and they were alone. 

“I’m so sorry, kiddo.” Bryan rubbed his back in gentle circles, letting the room just be quiet, peaceful, and not so hellish. Spot shuddered, but he didn’t cry any more. Just curled up as much as he was able to, until he was half on Bryan's lap, not caring anymore that it was childish and stupid. 

Spot wasn’t okay, but he could be. He would be. Just not right now. Right now, it was okay for everything to just suck. It was okay to not be okay. 

  
\-----------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ------------  
  


Skittery punched the wall in frustration, but there was no real strength behind it. He couldn’t stand being the reason Spot looked like that. So tiny, so scared, so miserable. 

“What’s wrong?” Maria leaned against the wall, clipboard in hand. 

Skittery groaned and leaned on the counter with his head in his arms. 

“Maria, he wouldn’t even look at me when I left. God, I just… Maria, I made him cry.  _ I  _ did. My little buddy. How could I do that to him?” 

Skittery felt awful. He was supposed to protect Spot, not make things worse. He should have found a different way. Any other way. 

“Sebastian, when was the last time you took a day off?”

“What?” Skittery glanced up, caught off guard by the question.

“Sebastian, you’re working half days and all night, every night. That’s not healthy. You’re going to make yourself sick, and then where will you be?”

_ Not here with Spot.  _ He sighed, suddenly noticing just how tired he was. 

“You’re right, Maria. But what can I do? I can’t just let him be alone at night, and he won’t stand for anyone else to do the day work.”

Maria’s voice was stern, but still kind. “You can’t keep working yourself to the bone like this. When you’re tired, you make mistakes.” 

She was right. If he kept doing this, Skittery was going to end up hurting someone. 

“Besides,” Maria continued. “He’s not going to have much done to him for the rest of his stay, just routine things. We can handle it.” She nudged him playfully. “You’re not the only nurse here, you know.”

Skittery gave his friend a grateful smile. “I know, and I’m sorry. Spot’s just… special, you know? We go way back. Maybe I’m just too close.”

Maria gave his arm a squeeze. “Caring is part of the job. Now,” she straightened up and switched to Stern Mom Maria. “You’re going home, and you’re going to go to sleep. I’m your head nurse, and I insist.”

Skittery saluted her jokingly. “Sir, yes, sir.” 

Maria and the rest of his coworkers were wonderful nurses and doctors, no matter what Spot insisted. Skittery had to believe things would be okay. 


	47. Chapter 47 (Racetrack)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling kinda meh about the beginning of this chapter but actually kinda happy with the end.  
> Spoiler alert, Spot gets snuggly when he's high. I have decreed this, so it is inarguable fact. Sorry, I dont make the rules. 
> 
> Watched Broadway newsies finally and wanted to cram in some of those characters so I could get used to writing them, as I'd like to include them in the next fic I am working on. If anyone has advice on how to write them better, I'd love to hear it, cause I feel like mine all come across as the exact same person. 
> 
> Fun fact, the conversations Racetrack has with his coworkers are convos I had with my coworkers. 
> 
> Disclaimer, I do not speak Italian. My search history now includes "Italian swear words" in addition to "what is the blood pressure thingy called".

“Behind you!” Racetrack called out, swerving to avoid dropping his precarious tray of soup bowls all over his manager. 

“Anthony, you’re supposed to say that  _ before  _ I bump into you,” Melanie Jacobi, owner/manager of Jacobi’s Cafe, lectured with a smile. She was, in Racetrack’s opinion, the greatest manager who ever existed. 

Mainly because lately she’d been letting him off early to go visit Spot before visiting hours ended at the hospital. 

Racetrack glanced at the clock for the millionth time that day. Only half an hour before he got off. Then he could go see Spot. 

“ _ Merda!”  _ Racetrack yelped when he received a blast of water from the dish sprayer hose, nearly dropping his cargo for the second time in ten minutes. 

“Albert! What the heck?” He frowned, setting the tray of dirty dishes on the counter to wring the water out of his apron. Apparently he was going to have to go home and change before he got to see Spot. 

The dishwasher grinned mischievously. “Sorry, Anthony. Didn’t see you there.”

He definitely did, Racetrack was sure of it. The jerk, preventing Racer from seeing the person he loved most in the world. Well, besides maybe Gabriella. Or Nonna. The person he loved most in the world, right next to his grandma and his sister. Whatever, Albert was still a mean, evil, no good  _ bully,  _ and Racetrack dramatically informed him of this fact. Even as he said it, Racetrack couldn’t suppress a smile, especially at the guys’ admiration for his Italian speaking, which was mostly limited to swear words Nonna pretended she never ever said. 

“Say something else,” demanded Henry from where he stood slicing carrots into a bowl.

Racetrack was happy to oblige. He couldn’t get in trouble for swearing if it wasn’t in English. 

“Man, I wish I could do that,” Elmer said with admiration at Race’s ability to swear in multiple languages. “I’m only fluent in one English. Fuck, I mean language.” 

Racetrack laughed. Elmer could do anything with numbers. Words, not so much, thus why he spent more time in the back rather than out where he might have to talk to customers. Racetrack thought that was kind of a shame, considering he was friendly and chipper most of the time, so perfect for customer service, except for the fact that little old ladies who just wanted some soup probably wouldn’t like much of what he said. 

“Elmer, what the heck goes on in your brain? Static?” Henry teased, flicking carrot peelings into the other boy’s hair. Racetrack found himself imagining Elmer, but instead of a head, he had a TV screen with just static. It was a terrifying image. Racetrack  _ hated  _ TV static with a burning passion. It made his skin crawl, the sound was so horrible. Like fire ants in his brain or something.

Wait, Static Boy was talking. 

“Here’s how my brain is split up,” Elmer explained. “There's like a 4/10 that’s special, and then a 5/10 that’s smarts, and then there’s one that’s just there to be there.”

“I think you’re mixing up the smart and the just there, Elmer.”

“Well, shit, I still got a smart!” He said cheerfully, flinging some of Albert’s (luckily unused, and therefore fresh and soapy) dishwater in all directions. 

“You guys are the worst,” Racetrack groaned, wiping yet again more water out of his eyes. 

“I’ve got places to be after this, and now I gotta go home first,” he complained. 

Elmer threw one dripping wet arm around Racetrack’s shoulders amicably. “What could possibly be more important than building camaraderie with your coworkers?” 

Racetrack swatted his hand away, half joking, half actually irritated. 

“My  _ boyfriend  _ is in the  _ hospital,  _ dumbass. I want to go see him.”

They all looked suitably guilty at that. Racetrack had been gushing over and then stressing out about Spot to everyone, not just his friends from school. The guys at work knew all about his crush-turned-boyfriend who he was now separated from with the exception of a few hours a week when he didn’t have to be working or at school. 

Melanie was willing to give him time off, but his mom was not willing to let him accept the time off.

“Sorry, Anthony. Wasn’t thinking.” Elmer apologized, offering him a towel. It didn’t do much, but Racetrack appreciated the gesture nonetheless. 

“I’ve got my spare change of clothes in my car,” Henry offered. “They should fit you, well, sort of at least,” he added, looking Racetrack up and down, or mostly down at the shorter, stockier boy. (Author’s note, my Racetrack is based on 1992sies, so don’t tell me he’s tall and skinny. I started this before I saw the Broadway one.)

“Thanks, Henry,” Racetrack said, gratefully. That would save him at least twenty minutes, meaning twenty more minutes with Spot. 

“You should leave now,” suggested Elmer. “After all, I soaked ya with the dishwater. Wouldn’t want Melanie’s favorite employee gettin’ a cold, would we?”

“I am  _ not  _ her favorite. That’s Henry, cause he can actually cook, the suck up.” 

“Just because I actually  _ try  _ doesn’t make me a-”

“Henry,” Racetrack interrupted. 

“In a hundred years, when Melanie is too old to run this place, guarantee it’ll be you running it.”

“And I’ll come in and dump a bowl of soup  _ AAAAALLLL  _ over the floor,” chimed in Albert, earning more carrots to his head. 

“My clothes are in my backpack.” Henry pointed, ignoring the soap bubbles that were flung at his head in retaliation. Racetrack nodded gratefully, and then slipped to the bathroom to change, sending his ride a text as he did so. 

Marco came to pick him up almost immediately after he finished, meaning he must have been early anyway, as usual. Always responsible, the jerk. 

Since Spot had his surgery, all the rest of the Higgins family had been uncharacteristically nice to Racetrack, which was certainly a nice change. 

“So, did they change the uniform or something?” Marco snickered. 

Apparently Marco’s limit to this kindness was seeing his little brother wearing skinny jeans that were too long, with a ramen noodle t-shirt. Henry’s fashion choices were interesting, especially considering they didn’t exactly fit. It was worth it, for Spot. 

“Grow up, you’re in college, stop acting twelve.” Racetrack grumbled. “They’re Henry’s. Can you please drive me to the hospital now? Wanna see Sean.” 

His parents didn’t approve of the band nicknames for some reason, so Racetrack was constantly having to keep track of “real names,” because in addition to having a childish sense of humor, Marco was also a tattletale.

Luckily, the mention of his _ hospitalized boyfriend  _ was enough to shut up his stupid brother who had been nice enough to pick him up from work. 

Marco even drove  _ at  _ the speed limit, rather than 5 miles below it. Incredible. 

“Do I need to come in with you?” he asked as Racetrack scrambled out of the car impatiently.    
“Yeah but you don’t have to stay. They kick me out at eight, so like, if somebody could be here then, that would be wonderful.”

Waiting forgotten in dark parking lots was not Racetrack’s favorite hobby, yet he still found himself doing it entirely too often. 

They went in the lobby and checked in with one of the nurses. Racetrack bounced impatiently. He wanted to see Spot. He knew what room it was, so why did they have to  _ wait  _ so much?

_ Finally  _ they made it, Marco slipping back out to his car as soon as the nurse left. 

"Spot!" Racetrack greeted happily, bursting through the door. He was stopped short by the incredibly pissed off look on his boyfriend's face.

"What are you wearing?" Spot took his outfit in judgmentally.

"What are you, the fashion police? At least I have pants on." Racetrack snapped, immediately defensive. Yeah, the clothes were stupid, but he'd worn them for  _ Spot. _ He didn't have to be a jerk about it, especially when he was basically wearing a dress. 

Spot glared at him for half a second after that comment, jawline tense. Then he flopped back in the bed looking defeated. 

"Sorry, Racetrack. I'm a dick." He looked really sad, which was a bit out of character, and frankly scared Racetrack a little. 

He felt bad then. He shouldn't make fun of Spot for having to wear hospital clothes. Spot already told him he hated it. 

"No, you're not a dick," Racetrack assured him, then corrected himself. "Well, you kind of are, but that's okay. You're  _ my  _ dick. Wait, no. That's not-" Spot snorted, and Racetrack felt a surge of pride in spite of his slight embarrassment. He climbed into the bed next to Spot, snuggling as close as he dared to avoid messing up any stitches or something. 

Spot completely ignored the fact that Race was trying to protect him by keeping some distance, instead choosing to lean practically on top of him. 

"Today sucked. I love you." He huddled up against Racetrack, who realized after a moment of shock that the guy must be seriously doped up. Was Racer disappointed to realize that? Kind of. The first time Spot said "I love you" and he was tripping balls. 

Well, a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts and all that, right?

Racetrack wrapped his arms around Spot's chest, enjoying the warmth and wishing Spot wasn't quite so skinny. That couldn't possibly be healthy. God, the voice in his head sounded like his mother, or David. 

"Wanna talk about it?"

"No." Spot mumbled sleepily. 

"Okay."

Racetrack was happy just to sit. He kissed Spot on the nose, bringing out a wonderful, relaxed smile. He wished Spot could look like this always. 

Maybe someday, when things were better, he could. 


	48. Chapter 48 (Spot)

Spot couldn't decide whether or not to panic.

Panic, he decided. Panic was a good idea right now. 

He'd told Racetrack he loved him. 

It had seemed completely normal at the time, but as the stupid amount of medication the stupid nurse lady had forced him to take wore off, Spot was realizing what exactly he'd said. 

Not that it wasn't true, of course. He did love Racetrack, right? 

He was pretty sure he did. Being with Racetrack was always the happiest Spot had ever been, and he was pretty sure he'd do literally anything in the world for his boyfriend. 

The big problem, he suddenly realized, was that it really sucked to have someone only ever say "I love you" when they're completely and utterly stoned, drunk, or in any other way off their face out of it. 

Or at least, it had sucked for Spot when he was really little. He could only remember his biological "mother" telling him she loved him twice, and both times she was completely hammered. 

_ Don't think about that _ , Spot told himself. That was an emotional rabbit hole that he wasn't prepared to go down right now. No, he had more immediate problems, such as the fact that he needed to make it up to Racetrack as soon as humanly possible. It didn't help that he wouldn't get to see Racetrack until he was released from this prison of torture, since the other boy was always working. 

Spot tossed David the Chicken absently into the air, lost in thought. 

He couldn't see Racetrack in person, and it'd be weird to text him that. David and Sarah saw him at school though, so maybe Spot could write a letter? No, that would be even weirder than a text. 

If all when well, Spot would be going home soon anyway. Not that he knew what to  _ say _ to Racetrack.

Maybe he should just take the 5 million balloons Mush had somehow managed to bring into the hospital and release them outside Racetrack's house. Attach a nice note to them and hope Racer got it. 

"Sorry I'm a defensive idiot who doesn't know how to function in a normal and healthy relationship, but now I'm gonna tell you I love you again, now that I'm not blazed." 

Actually, that wasn't  _ that _ bad. Maybe word it a bit differently… and lose the balloon part. 

A fragment of an idea was just starting to form in Spot's head when his planning was interrupted by Maria, one of the nurses, coming to torture him some more. Spot resisted the urge to throw the stuffed animal at her. Maria was better than the rest of them. Not Skittery-level, but better. He could be civil. For now. 

"Hey, honey. I need to take your blood for testing."  _ Again?  _

There was always something to test with these people. Spot was pretty sure they were really using his blood in ritualistic sacrifices, and all the doctor's "necessary testing" was just a cover story for his freaky cult. 

Well, this nurse wasn't getting any of  _ Spot's  _ blood without a fight. 

"You can't have it. It's mine. I need it. You psycho. Go away." Spot wasn't in the mood to be pricked right now. Not even by Skittery's old lady friend. Spot couldn't help but feel weirdly proud that he hadn't used any swear words. God, he was going to turn into  _ David  _ if he didn't watch out. 

"I'll make you a deal," Maria crossed her arms over her generous chest. "Cooperate, and I'll make sure you get to wear your own clothes for the rest of your stay. Deal?"

Spot thought for a moment. He really wanted to be allowed to wear pants. 

"Deal. Do your worst, Dracula."

Cooperating didn't mean he wasn't going to bitch about it the entire time, of course. Spot had to let the lady stick him with a needle; he didn't have to  _ like  _ it. 

"You're a sadist. You and Skittery and all your weird cult friends. You really get off on hurting kids? Freaks." Maria just hummed in amusement as she swabbed alcohol onto the side of his arm. She was unfazed by the accusations, much to Spot's irritation. 

"So what's the story behind the nicknames? Spot, Skittery?" She asked, unsuccessfully trying to distract Spot from the needle. It was a bit too big and terrifying to be distracted from, in Spot's opinion. 

"Skittery came up with them because he's a dick." 

"Oh?" She sounded a bit surprised by that. 

"Uh, yeah? I'm not just called Spot for no reason. What kind of a douche starts calling a kid after scars they got from their parents?" 

_ A sixteen year old who wants to make the kid feel better. _

It had worked, too. Spot liked not having people dance around his past. It was nice for someone to just… accept it, and then move on.

He didn't explain all that to Maria, of course. It absolutely was not any of her business. He wouldn't have even mentioned the scars if not for the fact that she'd already seen them anyway. 

So why was he throwing Skittery under the bus like that? 

Whatever. Wasn't important. 

Maria rubbed Spot's arm a bit, and he stiffened, gritting his teeth against the pain he knew was coming. Why was he such a wuss about needles? He'd been through worse. This was nothing.

No, it was definitely something, and Spot really really hated it. He wished Bryan was there; his presence always made things feel just a tiny bit less shitty. 

"Try to relax, honey."

"You try relaxing when somebody's about to fucking stab you!" Spot snapped, but he did his best to stop tensing up.

He twitched slightly at the tiny pinch of the needle entering and the incredibly weird feeling of having something small and sharp  _ inside  _ his arm stealing his blood. 

"There we go, all done." Maria taped a bandage to Spot's arm and started putting away her instruments of torture. 

"Now can I  _ please _ have my clothes back?" Spot asked, rubbing his arm in little circles. 

That had been an irritating distraction from Project : Be a Better Boyfriend, Spot thought as he put on the clothes Maria had handed over as promised. 

He had to be careful to keep the waistline of his jeans from rubbing at the not-yet-fully-healed stitches in his side, but it was totally worth it. 

Now if only he were literally anywhere but here. 

_ Just a few more days,  _ Spot reminded himself. Just a few more days until the doctor was confident his favorite pincushion wasn't going to die, and then he could go back home. 


	49. Chapter 49 (Denton and Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I kinda just wanted to talk about toucans tbh. I like toucans. 
> 
> Also someone requested a Denton chapter, but it wound up way too short, so I did another multi perspective chapter. I'll prolly do more Denton at some point since I did enjoy writing him. 
> 
> There was something else I wanted to say but I forget what it is.  
> Enjoy!
> 
> Edit: Tw is what I forgot  
> TW : Hospitals, Needles

Sean was probably the cuddliest teen Bryan had met, at least when there wasn't anyone else around to see it. As soon as someone else came into the room, he was back to being a cactus child, all prickles and irritability. 

The poor kid was so completely touch starved, and it was unfortunate that he only showed his need for comfort when he was medicated or completely terrified. 

Completely terrified seemed like the best description for the way Sean looked right now. The doctor decided that while he was in the hospital already was the best time to try out treatment options. There seemed to be quite a few different ones, and the one they tried first involved hooking Sean up to an IV for a blood infusion. 

Unfortunately, this meant moving to a different room and a needle in his arm for about two hours straight. 

The boy had developed an understandable fear of needles in recent days (he insisted they must want his blood for some nefarious purpose), and it certainly wouldn't help things if he twitched or wiggled away right now. 

Bryan pulled Sean close, holding him tight and still. 

He was watching the nurse's every move, getting more and more fidgety and worked up as she prepared her equipment. 

Bryan could feel Sean's breathing get more and more panicked, practically gasping for air like a cornered rabbit. The kid wasn't doing himself any favors by watching. 

“Look away, Sean,” Bryan instructed softly, and for once, Sean listened without protest. He gritted his teeth and stared at the doorknob as the nurse gently sterilized his arm. 

The boy stiffened when the nurse held his wrist, looking very much like a wild animal who just spotted a human nearby. 

He didn’t flinch, though he squeezed Bryan’s hand tight at the pinch of the needle going in. 

“There, all done kiddo.” The nurse placed medical tape over the needle to hold it in place, and hooked him up to the drip. 

“I’ll be back in a little while to check up on you, alright?” Bryan thanked the woman, then turned his attention back to Sean, gently rubbing the boy’s shoulders. He was so tense, the poor kid. 

Slowly, he relaxed, and Bryan shifted away a bit. Sean didn’t seem to want to let go of his hand, so Bryan let it be. He wasn’t foolish enough to mention it, either. Sean had missed out on a lot of love in his fairly short life, and if the boy needed more child-like comfort now, then Bryan would make sure he got it. 

Bryan couldn’t help but smile at how entranced Sean was by the documentary they’d found on TV. He stared with an almost childlike awe at all the tropical birds, asking questions and making comments on everything. Most of his comments were generally just insults directed at the birds, but the boy was obviously very invested. He hadn’t even made a fuss at the nurse when she came back to switch out the IV bag. 

Bryan was just glad to see Sean acting normal. Sure, they were in a hospital, which wasn’t quite a normal situation, but aside from the fact that he was hooked up to a needle, it could have been just any old living room. 

Any old living room where his boy was finally feeling happy. Feeling  _ safe _ . Finally. 

\-------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ-------

If he didn’t have an IV in right now, Spot would have been pretty comfortable. He was in a chair, not as nice as the one at home,( no,  _ Bryan’s house,  _ he reminded himself. Thinking of it as home before it was all official would only lead to more hurt. _ )  _ but it was still comfy. He had his blanket, and the TV was on to a surprisingly interesting documentary about jungle birds. Bryan sat beside him, gently rubbing his thumb along Spot's knuckles soothingly. 

The arm with the needle in it sat on a pillow on his lap, and neither of them acknowledged the fact that Spot still held Bryan’s hand with his free arm. 

Having a needle stuck to the inside of his arm was uncomfortable, and made any movement extremely awkward. Spot briefly considered ripping the needle from his arm as a protest, but that seemed like an exceptionally bad idea, even for him. It had also really hurt having the stupid thing put in, and he wasn’t exactly aching to deal with that again. 

He had to admit, the quiet room was almost… nice? He’d never admit it out loud, but it was peaceful, being there with Bryan. The man didn’t expect him to talk, he just sat, doing something probably work related on his phone.

Spot was surprised to find himself so interested in the documentary that he actually  _ wanted  _ to talk. Who knew birds were so freaky?

“Why the  _ hell  _ is its tongue like that?” Spot was fascinated by the weirdness that was a toucan. Not only did they look dopey as fuck with the huge beak and weird, stupid eyes, but their tongues looked more like a giant centipede than a tongue. 

“To catch food,” Bryan explained, hardly looking up from whatever he was doing. 

“Why is the beak so gigantic? It’s like half his body.”

“Temperature control, and feeding, mostly. They eat all sorts of stuff, reptiles, fruit, eggs. The beak is like a knife, see the edge?” Bryan set down his phone and pointed at the sawlike ridges on the brightly colored bird on screen. 

“Everything’s about food and sex for animals,” Spot said. People were basically the same though, when you really got down to it. 

Spot hadn’t realized that toucans came in so many colors. Rainbow toucans, goth toucans, blue toucans, and just the normal black and white ones. 

“What the  _ fuck  _ is that?” Spot exclaimed at the image on the TV. No way was that huge ugly thing actually a bird. 

“Language,” Bryan reminded him, but he was smiling.

“Sorry.” No he wasn’t. 

“It looks like a dinosaur and a wig got together and had a baby.”

“The cassowary,” declared the monotone voice on the TV, “is often known as the deadliest bird.” So Mr. Horrible Wig Dinosaur could apparently kill you too. That kind of made sense. It was still ugly, even if it was going to kick you to death or something.

So were parrots, if you looked too closely. Their weird beady eyes looked creepy, and they had weird stumpy grey tongues that looked like the fingers on a gorilla.

Speaking of horrible creepy gross things, the nurse came back into the room with everyone’s least favorite human being in tow. 

_ Ugh. Him again.  _

Spot firmly believed that the doctor was as brainless as he was spineless and hairless. He was also useless, and judging by his choice of tie, (hideous realistic dinosaurs) the man was also tasteless. The hatred Spot felt for him was endless, and thinking of insults was effortless. Dr. Worthless began an emotionless spiel of monotonous information that was absolutely meaningless to Spot, who was frankly running out of -less words to describe this loser. 

Spot should also probably pay attention to the conversation, seeing as it was about him.

“If all goes well, and you don’t have any negative reactions, we can send you home tomorrow,” the man was explaining. 

“Finally.” Spot was sick of being here. He missed sleeping in a normal bed, and he missed not being poked and pricked all the time. He even missed the stupid cats all over the place. 

Spot wasn’t going to admit it, not even to himself, but he missed  _ home.  _

The nurse finally detached Spot from the hospital’s version of Count Rugen’s Machine and wrapped his arm up in gauze and some weird green elasticy stuff.

Spot shook his arm, trying to get rid of the feeling of the needle as Bryan and Dr. Sadist talked about whatever it was they had to talk about, most likely all the ways Spot might die. That was a popular topic of discussion here. 

“We’ll have him come back about every eight weeks,” the doctor explained. “No overnight stays or anything, just a few hours like today.” 

Lovely. More needles. 

“We’ll take another look at the timing in a few months if it seems like Sean needs treatment more often, but in general, eight weeks in between visits works well for people.”

Spot did his best not to sigh at that. He didn’t like the reminder that this was a forever thing. He wasn’t going to get better, and there was nothing anybody could do about it. 

Still, he reminded himself that it was better now that they knew what was wrong. He didn’t have to just  _ always  _ be in pain. They could make it suck less.

And a tiny voice in the back of his mind, a voice he’d been trying very hard not to hear lately, reminded Spot that he wasn’t alone anymore. 


	50. Chapter 50 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wow, 50 chapters.  
> That's like an actual milestone, and shoutout to all of you who've been reading and commenting.  
> In celebration of this milestone, I'm gonna go back and try and reply to some comments, because I feel bad for not doing that ever.  
> ♡♡♡  
> I felt pressured by myself to make this chapter like actually GOOD, and then I remembered that anything involving Spot is fundamentally God-tier because he is My Son and I love him.

Spot lay on his bed, petting Jenny absently while he waited for the house to get quiet. The cat had apparently missed him, and now refused to leave his side. 

Bryan kept coming into his room to "check in", which was kind of annoying, but also made Spot feel inexplicably happy. 

As nice as it was to have someone give a fuck about him, Spot really wanted Bryan to stop it right now so he could sneak out. Finally, he'd turned the light off so he could pretend to be asleep. Maybe then Bryan would go to sleep himself. 

It was good to be home, but Spot had one last thing to do before he could go to bed. 

The house had been pretty much silent for over an hour, so Spot figured he was probably good to head out, as long as he was quiet about it. 

By now it was almost December, meaning it was cold as hell when he opened the window and pried off the screen as quietly as possible. He slid out, shutting the door to keep Jenny from following. 

Spot shivered a little, but kept going. He picked his way across the roof, careful not to make too much noise. 

Spot felt a little bit guilty when he thought about how worried Bryan would be if he woke up and Spot was just not there. He reminded himself that Bryan could have just let him go to see Racetrack in the daytime, and then this could have been avoided entirely. 

Spot didn’t  _ care  _ that the doctor wanted him to “avoid over exerting himself”. Spot had to talk to Racetrack, and he had to do it  _ now.  _

Spot stifled a yelp as he slipped in the thin layer of snow and nearly fell. 

_ Focus, Spotty.  _

He didn’t particularly want to go right back to the hospital less than 24 hours after being released. 

Spot dropped onto the roof of the minivan with a concerningly loud thud. He froze, waiting for a light to click on inside, but no one stirred. 

It didn’t take more than twenty minutes to walk to Racetrack’s house, but Spot was still relieved when he got there. It was  _ cold.  _

Spot slipped around the back of the house quietly. Racetrack’s bedroom was in the basement, and Spot just hoped nobody else was down there in the middle of the night, since he wasn’t quite sure which window led to Racetrack’s room. 

He knocked softly on the one he thought was Racetrack’s, and ducked aside just in case when a light turned on. The curtains pulled back to reveal a very sleepy Racetrack wearing a shirt that was far too big for him. He was really cute. 

He woke up pretty fast as soon as he saw Spot, scrambling to get the window open.

“Spot! What are you doing here? How did you  _ get _ here? It’s like midnight!” 

“I just climbed out my window. It’s fine,” Spot assured his boyfriend, who looked weirdly distressed. 

“I’ve done it plenty of times. Just climb from the roof to the gutter to the car to the ground. Easy. Can I come in? It’s cold.”

Racetrack nodded, but he didn’t look comforted by Spot’s assurances.

"Are you supposed to be climbing on roofs with..." he gestured vaguely at Spot's stomach as he straightened up from crawling through the window. Still not quite fully healed, but good enough. 

"No, but I'm also not supposed to take a shit without announcing it to Bryan. I don't care what the doctor said, I'm not doing that, and I wanted to see you, so I'm doing this. Besides," he shut the window behind him. "I only had to climb  _ off  _ the roof, walk here, then climb  _ over  _ your fence. Didn't have to climb  _ up  _ anything, cause you're a troll who lives in a basement. "

“Yeah, well, you’re the weirdo who’s dating a troll. What are you doing here, anyway?” Racetrack asked. “Not that I’m not happy to see you, cause I am, but like, you really couldn’t wait till school tomorrow?”

Spot flopped onto Racetrack’s bed. “I needed to talk to you. About us.” 

“What?” Racetrack half-squawked. “What’s wrong? I thought everything was good. Did I do something? What-” Spot threw a pillow at Racetrack’s head. 

“Shut up, I’m not breaking up with you. Let me talk.” He took a deep breath.  _ You can do this. It’s Racetrack. You like him, so tell him.  _

“Racetrack, I really like you.” Now the other boy looked confused. 

“Okay? I like you too. I don’t understand-”

“I gotta finish,” Spot was practically begging now. 

“Look, I don’t know how much you know, from like, David and stuff, but everything’s… everything’s kinda sucked for me for like, pretty much ever, and-and this is like, the first time my life hasn’t been just total shit, and-” now that he was right there, looking at Racetrack’s beautiful concerned face, Spot completely forgot everything he’d planned on saying. 

“I just really really like you, Racetrack. I’m sorry I’m a mess and I don’t know how to be normal, but I’m trying. I-I love you, Racetrack,” he stammered, not sure why this was so hard to get out.   
What did that look on Racetrack’s face mean? Was he weirded out by it? He must be weirded out by it. Spot had ruined everything. 

And then suddenly Racetrack slammed into him, arms around him and holding tight, like he never wanted to let go. He burrowed his face into Spot’s shoulder, and what was he supposed to do but hug him back? 

Spot didn’t know exactly how long he and Racetrack had lay in the bed, and he didn’t care. He just enjoyed the togetherness. It was so nice to have someone he could just _exist_ with. They didn’t have to talk or do anything. They were just there, and it was perfect. 

Unfortunately, Spot couldn’t exactly stay there forever, as much as he would have liked to. He did need some sleep, and he should probably be home when everyone woke up in the morning. The whole adoption thing would look really bad if Bryan had to call Jonathan and say he was missing. 

Spot scrambled up the drain on the side of the house, paying no mind to the pain in his stomach that he probably shouldn’t be ignoring. 

He slipped in the window and was just replacing the screen when he heard the door open behind him. 

“What the hell are you doing?”


	51. Chapter 51 (Spot&David)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda stemmed from me having a bit of a low mental health day today, so David is gonna be feeling the stuff I've been feeling lately. 
> 
> :(☆cry!☆):  
> I've made a new emoticon and it represents me on a fundamental level!

“What the hell are you doing?” Spot nearly jumped out of his skin. Sarah was apparently awake. Why was she awake at two in the morning?

“Did you sneak out?” Sarah asked, taking in the window screen in Spot’s hands and the snow on his jacket. 

“I had to go do something,” Spot muttered. Man, having siblings was irritating, even if they weren't  _ actual  _ siblings. 

“Do what?” she demanded, obviously irritated. He’d better just go with the truth this time. 

“See Racetrack.”

“By yourself?” 

_ Why does everyone think I'm completely helpless? _

“Do you see anyone else coming in through the window?”

She looked concerned at that. “You walked all the way there?”

Spot shifted uncomfortably. “It’s not that far.” He liked it better when she looked pissed off. That was less weird. Less confusing. 

“Well, next time, wake me up. I’ll drive you there. Don't be walking around in the snow like an idiot.” 

"What?" 

Sure, Spot got along fine with Sarah, more or less, but  _ that _ was not expected. Really, he'd have expected her to freak out, run and tell Bryan, and then he would also freak out. Though Bryan didn't really freak out in general, and apparently Sarah took after her dad in a few different ways, not just being kind of nerdy. 

"Well, yeah." She flicked her hair behind her back and poked him in his not-recently-opened side. Spot hissed, but he couldn't manage to make it sound actually angry. 

"I happen to kind of like having three brothers, so I'd really prefer you not get abducted or spill your guts out into the road." She grinned, and Spot couldn't help but return it.

_ Three brothers.  _

In Sarah's mind, Spot was the  _ same  _ as David and Les. And she  _ liked it  _ this way. Something about that was both terrifying and wonderful. 

Sarah scooped Jenny off the bed, cuddling the calico close to her body. 

"Glad not to have a bunch of kittens underfoot?"

Spot nodded with a snort. 

"They were cute, but annoying as hell. Try sleeping with them under your bed. They never shut up or stopped moving." 

Spot hadn't really minded though. While he appreciated the quiet now, there had definitely been something nice and kind of comforting about having an active little family right there in the room. 

Sarah crouched down, still holding Jenny and making kissy noises under the bed. 

"What are you doing?" She looked like a lunatic. 

"Linda's under there. I see her eyes. Come here, kitty."

Linda, the cat who after several months, Spot still had yet to meet. At Sarah's coaxing, the ugliest cat Spot had ever seen crawled out from under the bed. 

It was grey and pink, covered in wrinkles, and almost completely bald. 

"That's a  _ cat? _ " Sarah burst out laughing, and the "cat" stiffened, staring wide-eyed and accusing at Spot as if he was the one responsible for the sudden burst of sound. 

Sarah deposited Jenny in Spot's lap and plucked Linda from the floor, sitting cross legged on the yellow blanket. 

"Linda's just really shy," Sarah explained. "Mostly she just hides, even from us. But she'll come out if you stay really quiet."

She stroked the cat's weird little wrinkles, and Spot did his best not to look too uncomfortable that Sarah was sitting next to him. 

If he could be okay with Bryan or Racetrack, he could be okay with Sarah. 

  
\------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ------  
  


David lay on his back, arms behind his head as he listened to the conversation in the next room over. 

"Oh, but if you could try to keep from making any more of my friends cry, that would be great."

"Well, I'm not about to go and be straight for anybody, so that's a them problem and not a me problem."

"Spot! That's not what I meant and you know it."

Spot had apparently woken Sarah up somehow, and their friendly banter woke up David. 

He'd been listening for a little while now, or at least for as long as he'd been awake and sort of lucid. 

"Oh, hey, Jack says he has a black belt in, like, every martial art. Is that true?"

"The only thing Jack has a black belt in is being an idiot."

Spot laughed at that, a genuine, relaxed laugh. 

David wished he could do that. Just be good at people-ing like Sarah was and make people feel comfortable around him. The only person(aside from Sarah and Les, who didn't count) who sort of made sense was Jack, and that sense had taken a good while for David to unravel. 

David knew he kind of made a lot of people uncomfortable, like Mr. Weisel had said many times before. 

_ But Mr. Weisel isn't around anymore, _ David reminded himself. 

_ And remember how pissed Spot was about that? Maybe it isn't entirely true.  _

David was really glad to have Spot around, and he wasn't afraid to admit it to himself, or anyone else. With one important exception. 

Spot. He was so afraid to tell Spot that he mattered to him. 

David stroked his cat, Scotch absently, lost in this worries. 

What if Spot judged him for it? Spot was all toughness and prickles, or at least he tried to be. What if he thought David was stupid for being sentimental?

David didn't think he could handle it if Spot rejected his offer of friendship. Better to just… let it be. Things were good now, right? He didn't want to risk messing things up. 

But David couldn't stop thinking. He would talk with Sarah about  _ anything.  _ He never felt weird going to her about stuff. If Spot was his brother, shouldn't he be the same?

David curled up on his side with a sigh. Why couldn't things just be easier? He never knew what to say or how to say it, and people always seemed to get the backwards reaction from what he meant. 

"At least you make sense, huh buddy?" David scratched under Scotch's chin, and the fluffy brown cat purred, snuggling closer. David hummed softly in tune with the old cat's purring. 

He didn't know what he would do without Scotch. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally I planned to do this with Spot talking to David, but it honestly wasn't working for me, not sure why. Also I feel like I've been neglecting my best gal Sarah, and that's just not fair! She's rad and deserves the world. 
> 
> Having Spot bond with his new sister just helped me figure out a bit more where I wanted it to go, plus i like to work thru my own issues in this fic so I was like "sorry david, ur gonna be sad for a bit"


	52. Chapter 52 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Idk, don't really vibe with like half of this chapter. 
> 
> I play tuba and I am also a catholic bisexual(my family is very supportive) so plz dont bite my head off about these things. 
> 
> This chapter is not my favorite, but if I skip a day, it'll turn into two and then three and then I'll fall off the world. So yeah. 
> 
> Tw for brief mentions of alcoholism and abuse.

Spot was almost sort of happy to be back at school. Catching up was going to be a real pain, especially considering they had about a million tests, seeing as the semester was about to end. He had officially given up in math class, much to the teacher’s irritation, and all the reviews and make-up work dumped on Spot was definitely excessive in his opinion. But still, Spot was glad to have a schedule for the day that didn’t involve anyone sticking him with a needle. 

He was really tired though. Aside from that first night after coming home, (and he was going to think of it as home, fuck Jonathan and whatever he wanted to try and do) Spot hadn’t made a habit of sneaking out in the middle of the night, but that didn’t mean he slept any more than he had before. 

Waking up in pain sucked, and waking up in a panic because you dreamt you were getting sliced open again sucked just as much. Twice that week he’d texted Racetrack in the middle of the night, needing someone to help him calm down. Sure, Spot probably could have gone to Bryan, Sarah, or even David if he really had to, but things were just easier with Racetrack somehow. 

Now that he was officially dating Racetrack, Spot was pretty much obligated to sit with David and the rest of them. Spot, being “a grouch”, as David so uncreatively described his attitude on life, continued to insist he didn't want to sit with them. It was important to keep up appearances. Except when it wasn’t. Spot was confusing himself with how happy he was lately. 

He had to admit, it was nice to have people to sit with, even if they were irritatingly excited about the upcoming holidays.

“We’re going to put up our tree this weekend,” David said in response to a question Mush had asked and Spot had ignored. Les hadn’t shut up about the stupid tree all week. Spot absolutely was not excited to be allowed to help. He’d never actually decorated a tree before. 

“Davey, aren’t you guys Jewish?” Mush was snuggled up next to Blink in an impressively flexible position, considering they were in separate chairs.

“First of all, Christmas trees are technically pagan, they were from traditions for like, Saturnalia or Yule or to worship Ra. Secondly,” David had to speak loudly as Blink began to make an extremely inhuman sound.

“Christmas stuff like trees and whatever are fun. You don't have to be Christian to hang up decorations. Lots of non-religious people celebrate it. Santa Claus is from the story of Saint Nicholas, which is a Catholic thing, and-” Blink started to shriek even louder, managing by sheer volume and shrillness to get David to shut up.    
“I  _ refuse  _ to learn things during lunch. Jack, shut up your boyfriend before I strangle him.”

"I think I'm technically Catholic," Spot said, surprising everyone including himself. "My parents were, cause they're like, stereotypical Irish, and this family like last year had me get Confirmed and shit. No take backs, can't un-Catholic myself," he tried to joke, to keep attention away from the fact that he'd brought up his parents. 

Stereotypical Irish, meaning they were literally never sober, ever. At least sometimes they were happy drunk. 

_ Don't think about that, not now.  _

"Sean Patrick  _ Augustine  _ Conlon. That's my Catholic name."

Augustine. Reformed sinner turned theologian. As if taking the name of a dead guy could somehow magically, no  _ miraculously, _ fix everything wrong with Spot. 

It wasn’t that Spot  _ didn’t  _ believe in that kind of stuff. It was just hard to trust in some all-seeing entity who hadn’t ever done shit for him. 

That family hadn’t been all that bad at first. Always wanting to pray for people and stuff, but they never made Spot do anything too weird. Then the whole Boyfriend thing happened, and suddenly Spot was a bad person, a problem. A broken piece of trash they had to fix. Turned out he wasn’t fixable, and they just discovered more and more reasons why. 

Spot traced one hand lightly along his ribcage. He’d almost swear he could feel the old bruises, but that was ridiculous. 

He was doing a really bad job of not thinking lately. Christmas, and the holiday season in general, would do that to a guy. 

"Spot, eat your lunch," Sarah ordered when she noticed he was mostly just playing with his food now. 

"I'm not hungry. What are you, my dietitian?" Thank God he didn’t have to have one of those too. Spot already had enough doctors and stuff, with the normal one, the stomach one, and the therapy one. 

His stomach hurt, and he didn’t feel like eating anymore. 

"I'll tell Bryan," she warned, and Spot scowled. 

"Fine. I'm eating, look, happy?" 

Spot forced himself to eat some of the jell-o Bryan had stocked up on for him. He did like jell-o. Why exactly Bryan was so obsessive about getting him to eat, Spot wasn’t sure. Probably something Dr. Stupid told him. 

Speaking of the doctor…

“Crutchie, do you have any relatives who’re doctors?” 

Sure, Morris wasn’t exactly an  _ uncommon  _ name _ ,  _ but it wasn’t impossible for the other boy to be related to an absolute psychopath either. 

“Yeah, my uncle Richard. Why?” Crutchie asked.

“I hate your uncle, and he’s a pervert. I am going to make sure he burns in hell if I have to fight the devil to let him in.”

Crutchie blinked slowly. 

“Okayyyy…. Is he, like,  _ your  _ doctor?”

“I do not believe that quack made it through medical school by honest means,” Spot declared, making Mush snort apple juice out of his nose.

“Understandable,” Crutchie said with a nod, surprising Spot immensely. Most people did not react like that when you slandered their family name. 

“Uncle Rick kinda takes some getting used to.”

“His name is Richard and you  _ don’t  _ call him Di-” Sarah flung her hand over Spot’s mouth, to which he of course responded by licking her. She squealed, wiping her palm on her pants. 

Spot couldn’t help but grin. The girl played the  _ tuba,  _ so he’d assumed she was weird, but she really wasn’t. He was genuinely and pleasantly surprised to find that Sarah was cool. 

Spot reached for Racetrack’s hand under the table. Sure, Christmas and the rest of the holidays were always weird, but maybe this time, things would be good. 

He could certainly hope. 


	53. Chapter 53 (Spot)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Decorating trees is an art.  
> Also I want it to be christmas so I can out up lights in my room. I propose we add an extra christmas this year since we're all quarantined and stuff.

Spot woke up on saturday to Les practically sitting on his chest. 

"Come on, get up," the boy said, tugging on Spot's arm. 

"We need to put up the tree!" 

Spot groaned, shoving Les off the bed. "I'm up, stop touching me," he grumbled, rolling out of bed and pulling on socks. He slept in all his clothes except socks, because people who sleep wearing socks should be either shot or institutionalized. 

Not that Spot was going to admit it out loud, but he was kind of excited. Sure, most families had a christmas tree, but he'd never actually helped put one up before, having always been locked in his room or otherwise out of the way during any holiday-type event. 

He was half dragged into the kitchen where Bryan stood on the phone. 

"He's up!" Les announced, and Bryan nodded, pointing to the phone to show he couldn't respond right then. 

"No, we should be home all day. Just doing some decorating." He paused again. "Alright, well, see you then." 

Bryan hung up the phone and turned to Spot. 

“Jonathan is coming for another check-in at some point today,” he said gently. 

Just hearing Jonathan's name was enough to stress Spot out more than he wanted to admit, and apparently Bryan knew that. 

He'd never been afraid of his social worker before. _Never._ The guy was an idiot and a loser, and not worth stressing about. 

But he'd never had something like this to lose before either. Spot didn't want to lose all of this. 

"Hey, it doesn't have to ruin our plans, okay?" Bryan smiled encouragingly. "Come on, let's go get the tree down from the attic before Les explodes from impatience."

Spot nodded. He was very practiced at not thinking. 

It was a fake tree, thus the whole keeping it in the attic thing. Boxes and boxes of fragile ornaments, strands of lights and beads, and other assorted decorations came down from the attic. 

Sarah turned on some music, which luckily was not Christmas/holiday music, or Spot might have been forced to kill her. He didn't like Christmas music. Too sparkly. ("Sparkly isn't a way to describe sound." "Shut up, David. It sounds sparkly.")

Sarah was pulling lights out of a box and untangling them while Bryan and David assembled the tree itself, and Spot suddenly felt very useless and out of place. 

He really didn't know what he was doing or how to help. 

"No, you have to put those ones up the  _ trunk! _ " Les declared, stopping Sarah from committing the heinous crime of putting lights in the wrong locations. Sarah grinned and handed the strand over. "Have Spot help you," she suggested when Les inevitably struggled due to his short arms. 

Les immediately took charge of the situation, clearly the expert at this. He handed Spot lights, ornaments, and tiny fake birds made of lifelike colored feathers. 

Les happily showed Spot how to wrap the fake birds’ little wire feet around the branches so they stuck, staring beadily out at the room. 

Kind of creepy. 

David was for some reason on his back under the tree, sticking shiny ornaments up close to the middle, and Sarah focused her efforts on the side facing the wall. 

Apparently they decorated the  _ entire _ tree, not just parts people could actually see. 

"Hey Spot, can you hand me that?" David pointed at a red and gold ornament left on the floor. 

Spot picked it up, and was suddenly hit by a stabbing pain in his stomach. He winced and gritted his teeth, clenching one fist. That definitely  _ did not help  _ with the pain situation  _ at all.  _ Spot had, for a split second, forgotten about the ornament in his hand, which was now quite literally  _ in his hand _ , as well as all over the floor.

Spot scrambled to pick up the pieces in the carpet, not worrying about the way the shards cut into his hand, tiny streams of blood leaking out. 

_ Ow. Ow. Ow ow ow. Great going, Spot. That was really fucking stupid.  _

Sure, by now he knew nobody here was going to freak out on him about it, but that didn't make it okay. It had been nice of them to let him help, and look what he went and did. 

"Oh, Sean, Sean, give it here, you'll hurt yourself."

"Sorry, I'm sorry," Spot stammered, handing the tiny bits of colored glass over. All the bits not stuck in his hand, that is. 

"Come here, let's get that cleaned up." Bryan led Spot to the kitchen and sat him down at the table, pulling out the first aid kit from above the fridge and clicking on a light. 

“I’m sorry,” Spot repeated as Bryan picked the tiny shards from his hand with a pair of tweezers. 

"It's fine. It was an accident," Bryan assured him, carefully bandaging Spot's hand. 

"I just- I'm sorry," Spot said again. He didn't know what else to say, just looked at his hands and tried not to pay attention to the nervous pounding in his chest and the stabbing in his stomach. 

"Hey, it's okay." Bryan paused in his bandaging to put a hand on Spot's shoulder. 

"Breathe, kiddo. You gotta breathe." Spot shuddered a bit, but he got in a few deep breaths to calm himself down. 

"Feel good?" Bryan had finished with fixing up his hand.

Spot nodded, flexing carefully. It didn't hurt too much, but he wondered what Jonathan would say about it. He was required to note pretty much everything; would this be enough to fuck everything up?

Spot really hoped not. 

He started to head for his room so Bryan and the others could finish their tree in peace, but the man stopped him. 

"Sean, where are you going?"

Spot turned back, surprised. 

"Upstairs to my room?"

"Don't you want to help? I mean, you don't have to, but it seemed like you were having fun."

Now Bryan looked as confused as Spot felt. 

"I mean, yeah, I was. But… I broke it. You still want me to help?" 

What if Spot ruined it? He was really good at fucking things up. 

Bryan put an arm around Spot's shoulders. 

"Of course we want your help. It's not like Christmas tree decorating is a matter of national security." Spot smiled and leaned tentatively against the man's side.

It was okay. Nobody was mad and everything was fine. 

"Come on, let's go finish things up."


	54. ♡THE END (Spot)♡

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the last chapter!  
> I may have cried a little bit before posting this due to me being sad that it's done, but then I remembered that in this universe, I am in charge, and I can write a sequel if I so desire. 
> 
> And I'm totally going to desire that :)
> 
> But seriously, thank you infinity to all of you who read, commented, and came along with me on this journey! It's kept me sane while quarantined, and really and truly helped me learn to deal with my own condition in a much greater way. 
> 
> I appreciate all the kindness so so much, and I'm definitely going to be posting more, both in this au and some other unrelated ones I'm working on.

When the doorbell rang, Spot was pretty sure he was going to just drop dead, he was that freaked out. 

He had to act like living here had "fixed" him. Spot was happy here, he knew that much for sure. It was just a matter of convincing Jonathan that this was the best place for him. 

Spot tried to think of someone who was happy, but not too happy. Someone he could act like and it would be believable. 

_ Racetrack. Channel your inner Racetrack.  _

"Come in Jonathan," Bryan greeted the man with a smile. 

Of course, Jonathan immediately noticed the one thing Spot had really hoped he wouldn't bring up. 

"What happened to your hand?" The man looked entirely too concerned about the bandages.

"I accidentally used a christmas ornament as a stress ball. Unfortunately it really just added to the stress." 

That sounded like something Racetrack would say. 

"So you've been stressed out?"

Fuck. 

"No, Jonathan," he sighed, trying to look relaxed. "It was a joke. You know what a joke is, right?"

"We like Sean!" Les piped up before Jonathan could respond. "We want him to stay forever!" 

Yes, a cute kid wanting him to stay. 

_ Keep talking, Les.  _

Jonathan was unreadable. 

"Well, it's Les, right?" Les nodded. "Well, Les, would you like to tell me some more? About why you want Sean to stay?"

"Okay!" Les chirped, jumping up on the couch next to Spot. 

"I like Sean, he's really cool. He's friends with Jenny and he shares his food with me and he's a good brother, just like David!"

Les chattered on to Jonathan, but Spot was having a bit of trouble focusing. 

_ Just like David.  _ Who would have thought Spot would ever be  _ happy  _ to hear that?

Sarah talked to Jonathan all about band and how the two of them were getting along really well, which made Spot feel much happier than he would usually be willing to admit.Bryan told Jonathan how great Spot was doing with all the chronic illness bullshit, ("He's certainly a tough little guy." "Hey! I am  _ not _ little.") and ended his spiel by saying, "Jonathan, Sean's come a very long way, and we really do hope he can stay with us."

Jonathan nodded, still frustratingly noncommittal. 

"And what about you, David, right? What do you think?"

David looked uncomfortable, and suddenly, Spot was worried. It had seemed like David wanted him around. Maybe he didn't really. Maybe he'd wanted Spot gone this entire time. 

"When Spot-um,  _ Sean  _ first came here, we didn't get along very well," David admitted. 

"He was a total prick and I guess I was kind of a jerk too. But now," David gave Spot a little smile. "Now things are pretty cool."

Spot relaxed a little. He wasn't entirely sure David actually wanted him there, but "pretty cool" was way better than "get this asshole out of our house". 

"Alright," Jonathan got up. 

"I'd like to talk to Sean in private again, if you don't mind."

_ Of course, we always have to do this.  _

_ \------ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ------ _

Spot slammed the door to his bedroom shut and turned to face Jonathan.

"So, Sean. How are you doing?"

"Peachy. Now tell me."

Jonathan smiled, the stupid, plasticy-fake smile that Spot had always hated. 

"Sean, come on. Don't be like thi-"

"Am I allowed to stay?" Spot didn't  _ care  _ about all the stupid chatty stuff. He had to know. 

"You need a haircut," Jonathan commented, doing a very bad job of avoiding the subject. Spot glared at him. 

“If I cut my hair will you let me stay?”

“So you want to stay then?” 

Holy fuck, he was dense. Spot wanted to kill him. 

“Of course I fucking want to stay! Are you deaf or just an idiot?” Spot snapped, starting to pace the room in irritation.    
“Jesus, Jonathan. I  _ like  _ it here. For once I’m actually fucking happy, and you just can’t be okay with that, can you?" 

Tears pricked his eyes suddenly, and Spot did his best to pretend they weren't. 

"I'm actually safe and happy and I have  _ family  _ and, yeah, I'll admit it, I love them!" Spot shouted, making Jonathan jump in surprise.

"Spot Conlon, the lost cause, stupid, worthless, jerk Spot Conlon, loves somebody!" Spot screamed, choking as he tried to make himself stop crying. 

_ Problem kid, reject, troublemaker, going to end up dead or in prison someday.  _ He'd heard it all. 

But not here, not from these people. Bryan and Sarah and David and Les, they were  _ different.  _

Spot choked on a sob, trying to desperately to keep it together. 

"And-and for once in my m-miserable f-fucking life, I think they could actually love me." Spot gasped, voice breaking. There was no way to hide the fact that he was crying anymore, and Spot didn't bother to try. 

He curled up on the floor and buried his head in his knees.

"Sean." 

He still didn't want to look at Jonathan though. 

"Hey, Sean. Look at me." Jonathan's voice was weirdly gentle. 

Spot looked up.

"I need to know. Are you safe here?" His entire face was serious, and for once, Spot felt like he actually cared. This was Jonathan's job, after all. He was supposed to make sure everything was okay. It just so happened that he sucked at it, but hey, at least it wasn't on purpose, right?

"Jonathan, this is the first place I've ever felt like I was safe in my whole life," Spot said, and it was true. He'd never felt like this, like he belonged, like he was  _ wanted _ . 

"Okay. There's still going to be plenty of paperwork and things to do, but as far as I'm concerned, you're going to stay here." 

Spot would have hugged him, if not for the fact that this was  _ Jonathan,  _ and that would be disgusting and like hugging a dead moose. 

"Thanks, Jonathan." 

He settled for just being grateful and happy. 

Jonathan smiled, a real one. One that Spot couldn't bring himself to hate. 

"How about we go tell the news to your family?"

_ Family.  _

Spot couldn't get down the stairs fast enough. 

Everybody looked at him when he came into the living room, waiting to hear the decision. 

"He said I can stay," Spot said, surprised that he almost sounded shy. 

Les would be excited, so would Sarah. Their already knew Bryan wanted him to stay. 

It was David he wasn't certain about. 

He wasn't expecting the reaction he got, that was for sure. 

David launched himself at Spot, wrapping him in a tight hug. And what was Spot supposed to do but hug him back?

Sarah's voice echoed in Spot's head as she, Bryan, and Les quickly joined in, making for a surprisingly nice group hug. 

_ "Three brothers." One of them is me now.  _

Spot had never been so happy in his life. 


End file.
